Little Miracles

by Lorna Kerin Beall 

In past years one of my favorite things to do was to write a Christmas poem or story, some that have been graciously published. One of my favorites was published in The Lutheran Witness a couple of years ago. It was about my little mentally challenged Sunday school student, Theresa, who tore everything she touched. She tore not only her lesson paper but even the paper on her crayons causing many supposedly black puppy dogs or cows to turn out a surprising purple. At snack time Theresa even tore her paper cup, drizzling colorful (and sticky!) Kool Aid everywhere.

We were doing the Christmas story in flannel graph and each child was to put a beautiful and beloved pastel character on the flannel board. I couldn't help but wonder what I’d do about Theresa. Before long however, I was caught up in this lesson of God’s love, and in the joy of the children as they slapped each picture up with exuberance. But all too soon we were to the most wonderful picture of all, the baby Jesus – and to the last child – Theresa.

I held the fragile picture of the little pink Baby in my hand, imagining the children’s hurt cries if Theresa should tear it. Before I could change my mind, I thrust it towards her. Slowly, wide-eyed with wonder, Theresa took the picture of the Baby. She gently touched Him with her tiny finger. Then she began fingering the edges of the soft velour picture. I knew what would come next: the tearing.

But Theresa drew the baby Jesus to her lips and kissed Him. Then she patted Him gently in place on the flannel-board. I knew I’d witnessed a little Christmas miracle. And since then, I've often been inspired by some child’s simple faith. Like last year during our church Candlelight Service. When the first candles were lit a tiny 2-year-old boy in the congregation burst out singing, “Happy birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday Dear Jesus, Happy Birthday to you.”

This Christmastime may we join him, and other sweet children, in singing or saying: “Happy Birthday, Jesus!

From Pioneer Lady to Whip-lashin' Gunslinger

Jana Segal

The success of my historical reading actually lead to a "paid" gig (Well...$50.) with a Mystery Theater Group - the Candlelight Players. So I went from playing strong pioneer lady, Mary Ringo, to the rough, whip-lashin', gunslinger, Buffalo Lil. It had been 20-some years (about the same amount of time that I was married) since I had been in a play. After hearing about my performance in Tombstone, my friend Andy recommended me for the role (in part to distract me from my impending divorce.)

So while I was trying to develop my character and memorize my lines, my soon-to-be-ex would call several times a  day about the divorce. Sometimes the play was a distraction from the divorce and sometimes the divorce distracted me from the play. I was so tired from dealing with all my ex's crap, that it was like pulling teeth to even read the play before the first read through. But Andy, with his hilarious Speedy Gonzales accent, lightened things up. By the time we got the play on it's feet, there were glimmers of the old passion I had for acting before I got married. I had forgotten how much I loved to act!

I enjoyed discovering my character's voice. When I had problems distinguishing my character from all the other Western characters, the director wisely recommended that I look at Dustin Hoffman's tomboy sister in "Little Big Man." I watched her three scenes over and over until I got a handle on her vernacular and then I transferred her cadences to my lines. Then I recalled a similar character from Deadwood - Calamity Jane. I found her scenes on Youtube and got my character's attitude from her. Finally, I learned how to crack a whip. Now I was having fun!

But the best part was running lines with my two hammy sons. (They had been sorta distant since their father left the house.) Usually I help them learn their lines (which they get a lot easier than I do.) It actually helped me to bond with my 12 year old when he gave me my cues on route to his Live Theater Workshop class. He started hugging me for the first time in this life!

But the day before the performance, when I wanted to put the finishing touches on my lines, my ex tells me he is taking the boys for the weekend to prepare them to live with him every other week. I spiraled into depression. I read the same line over and over - it was meaningless.

I ended up running through my lines on the 45 minute drive to the resort and while we waited to go on. And there was plenty of time waiting around - first, for the audience to eat dinner and then to read the clues and finally to figure out the mystery. Once I got my lines, I had so much DOWN time that I started to get depressed again! I was afraid I wouldn't get it back up for the finale!

But it all turned out fine. I actually helped other people when they forgot their lines. At the climatic moment, when the shot gun sound effect didn't go off,  I was the one to say, "Bang!" and even got a laugh. In fact, I got six big laughs in all. Thanks to my buddy Andy.

http://www.candlelightplayers.com/

Weaving Emotional Truth Through Your Story

by Lorna Kerin Beall

Happy Thanksgiving! What are you thankful for? I’m thankful to God for His abundant love and blessings, especially that He sent His Son to be our Savior.

Regarding writing and weaving stories, I wanted to share a little more from what I learned from Suzanne Morgan Williams, the author of, "Bull Rider," at The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators’ Conference I attended recently.

There's an old writing adage, “Write what you know.” But do we really have to stick to what we know or have personally experienced?” The answer is a resounding “No!” I’m sure Ms. Williams has never ridden a bull! (Though I did ride my steer, Cocoa, but he was as gentle as a newborn calf.)                                

Suzanne explained how we can transfer some of the emotions or knowledge that we gain from different life experiences to the characters in our story. She shared how being around her uncle with Parkinson’s disease enabled her with the characterization of Ben, the brain-injured, partially paralyzed war vet, in her book. Her dear uncle sat there crying when Parkinson’s finally took his voice. Like her uncle, Ben had to struggle to get out a few sometimes-incoherent words. Suzanne also used something that happened to her daughter when describing Ben. When her daughter was in the midst of a divorce she’d blurted out, “Nobody will want me,” and the author was inspired to have Ben cry out, “Nobody will want me.”  What makes this so powerful is that it rings true.

Have you experienced something that evoked strong feelings or emotions in you? Draw on those feelings to enrich your story. Your experience provides the emotional content of the story – and more importantly emotional truth. Even if you're writing a genre piece like horror or fantasy, weaving in the emotional truth of a character will elevate that story to a higher level.

Older than Dirt

by Lorna Kerin Beall 

I'm used to going to writers' conferences where many of the attendees are retired. It makes me feel young! But you know you are older-than-dirt when a youthful and vibrant lady editor tells you that you should put romance in your middle-grade novel with a 12-year-old protagonist and you stare at her blankly.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who has experienced this revelation. Author/speaker, Suzanne Morgan Williams told about a time she was interviewing a teen bull rider while doing research for her now published Y.A. novel, Bull Rider. She’d formerly interviewed several older bull riders, one whom answered every question with a one word answer, often yes or no. So she was thrilled to find a bull rider who was the perfect age to share the teen perspective. He even admitted to blacking out in his first ride. (That was evidently quite common.) He told her about his many youthful experiences including his emotions of fear, courage and pride. Just as Ms. Williams was starting the interview the teen’s phone rang. It was his mom and she was concerned that he was in the hotel bar with other older bull riders. He wasn’t drinking and told his mom that he’d be right up and not to worry, he was with a really old lady!

But Suzanne had a totally different experience where she interviewed an 80+-year-old elder of a tribal village. When he found out from the translator that she was only 55, he wouldn't talk to her because she was too young! When she explained to the translator that she was writing to help children, the revered elder totally reversed himself, and told her all kinds of things, even demonstrating a spear throw to the wall and showing her some kind of animal skull.

So perhaps age is relative. The good thing about being older is that you have the time to explore the child in you. In my opinion you are never too old or too young to write a story. Just let that child or elderly person come out to play!

Rehearsing and Performing my Reading of Mary Ringo's Pioneer Journal

When preparing for my reading of Mary Ringo's pioneer journal, I had to decide which journal entries to include. There was A LOT of tragedy on this journey, so I wanted to break that up by including entries with interesting details on camping – so the audience could get a glimmer of life on the wagon train and so there would be peaks and valleys in the performance. This would give me a chance to express other emotions aside from the fear and rising anxiety over the impending Indian attacks. For instance, I express her delight at seeing the beautiful scenery and the joy of watching the children discover a steamboat. I like to have as much variety as possible so it won't become one note.

Rehearsing for a reading can be tricky. Different than rehearsing for a play. With play acting you need to memorize the lines precisely without memorizing the inflections. Some directors have you do improvisation so you stay as spontaneous as possible. When rehearsing for a reading, you need to practice reading it out loud enough so you are comfortable articulating the exact wording and don't garble the words. It helps to know the subtext (internal dialogue). When I type the manuscript I double space so I can write cues for the emotions above the dialogue. But you have to know it well enough so you're aware of the transitions from one emotion to another. It won't do to figure out the emotion half way through the sentence. This is where pauses can come in handy. I put a slash where I need a pause to shift from one emotion to the next. Pauses are also great to add drama. Sometimes Mary would write about some very dramatic event in a very matter of fact or dry manner. A few well placed pauses can really build the dramatic tension. A guy came up to me after the reading and said that he was afraid I was going to pass out from all the anxiety. The anxiety that he (and I) felt came from the pauses.

So how much do you rehearse? It's all about balance. You don't want to practice so much that it becomes dull and you are forcing the emotions. I was lucky to have a manuscript with a very dramatic ending. The writing wasn't stilted at all. The words and rhythm expressed real heartache. The first time I read it aloud, I cried. This is good and bad. It is good because you know that the feelings are there. It is bad because you don't know if you'll ever be able to access them again – especially if you over work it. I opted on the side of less work.

After going through and marking the script with the subtext and emotional cues, it is time to read it out loud. First, I just need to get used to hearing my own voice. I don't worry too much about inflection. If I stumble on a word that is hard to pronounce, I repeat it until I can say it with ease. As I re-read it, new subtext starts to emerge so I tweek my notes and pauses. I work on a section at a time until I get rid of enough kinks to get all the way through it. When I finally got to the climax – I actually cried! I set it aside so I wouldn't overwork it. The next day, I read it all the way through without stopping at each mistake. Finally, I time it. Good. It's in the alotted time frame. I stop for the day.

Friday, November 4, 2011

When I get to Tombstone, I wander the streets. There is a lonely wind blowing – as I miss absent friends. I go back to my room and read through the whole manuscript – except for the emotional climax. I don't want to overwork it. I hope the tears will be there when I need them.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

The next day - the day of performance, I have about two hours to get ready. I read the beginning and start to feel a little anxiety. I take a long shower – belting out a song or two. I take my time putting on my modest makeup and put my hair up in a bun. I casually read the manuscript out loud one last time. It's not perfect. I don't even get choked up at the end. I leave the performance in God's hands. It is really an act of faith at this point. I put on my school marm dress, lace up my period shoes and head for the performance venue hoping for the best.

When I get there, they seem to be behind schedule. One speaker finishes his speech and another goes up. I try to stay relaxed. I wonder if I should go run through it one last time, but decide that that would only make me more nervous. The second speaker finishes his presentation and takes questions. I go to the ladies room to adjust my shawl and put on my bonnet. Jenn, the organizer, finally announces me. I walk to the front and set up a shaky metal stand, place my manuscript on it, and adjust my mic. I ask the audience, “How many of you have heard of Johnny Ringo?” They all raise their hands. I give a short intro on how this is Johnny's mom's journal of their trip cross country in a covered wagon . This intro gives me time to acclimate to my surroundings and the audience.

This is it. My hand shakes as I adjust the mic, but I know I can use the nerves to my advantage. The reading is going pretty well. I wish I had practiced a bit more so I could look up at the audience more often. I mess up a couple of lines, but I stay in character and keep going. Then I start to get into it. I surprise myself with some new expressions in the heat of the moment. The pauses that I planned are starting to build tension. And there it is. The climactic paragraph. I pause to reflect for a moment. When I resume, the emotion is all there. I tear up as I tell of my husband accidentally killing himself. I bow my head in reverence to God. And it is over. The audience applauds. Several people come up to me and tell me how good I did. Mark D says that the audience was so mesmerized that you could hear a pin drop. Thank God!

HOW TO GET THE MOST OUT OF A LITERARY CRITIQUE SESSION

by Lorna Kerin Beall

I recently attended a wonderful Children’s Writing Conference in Springfield, Missouri, and had a chapter of my middle-grade novel critiqued by, oh joy, an acclaimed editor!

When I registered, I was handed a one-page critique along with my manuscript pages, but didn’t have time to read it beforehand. What did I do during my precious fifteen minutes with the editor? I blabbed the whole time, hardly giving her a chance to speak. Later a friend and fellow writer confessed that she’d often find herself doing the same thing. How do I prevent this from happening again? And better yet... 

How do you get the most out of a conference critique session?

1) After writing it down, practice what you are going to say. (Jana has told me that she has done this for “screenplay pitch sessions.”)

2) If you haven’t put the genre and targeted audience at the top right hand corner of your first page (or wherever they might request that information), tell the person that information. Also mention the word count/and/or number of chapters.

3) Briefly tell the plot of the story and what is unique about it. Also relate the ending.

4) Write down questions you want to ask, and feel free to take notes. (Some of us have senior memories.)

5) If you’ve had a chance to read the written critique, and you need the person to explain or elaborate, this is the perfect time to ask.

I didn’t notice until days later that the editor gave me a wonderful compliment in her written critique. She graciously said my chapter of The Wormy Bean Winter reminded her of some of the best work of O.E. Rölvaag, the acclaimed author of Giants of the Earth, (A novel about homesteading in South Dakota, first published in 1927.) I admit it, I’d never even heard of him. But I immediately looked up information on the Internet, and requested his books from the library. The only one available was Giants of the Earth and I loved it! Because of the time era I expected to be bogged down in lengthy description, but I wasn’t. It has a unique slant, (especially for that time period) bringing out both the Norwegian husbands and wife’s viewpoint about homesteading in the desolate prairie. This is too simplistic- but Per Hansa was exuberant about the whole experience, while his wife, Beret, nearly became suicidal.

After devouring the book, I decided to make up for my neglect in responding to the editor’s gracious comment about my work. Since my book has a Finnish protagonist, I found a thank you card that said thanks in several different languages. Of course, it didn’t have the Finnish word, so I added it at the bottom of the list:“Kiitos!”

6) Lastly, whatever the editor, agent or author says about your work be thankful for their time and effort. And express it. You may disagree and that’s your right, but often when they suggest changes it’s more helpful than accolades. I got both from the editor who critiqued mine. Though I have to admit her compliment was like a sweet taste of molasses. (I started to say honey, but molasses figures largely in my old-timey prairie story.)

Keep writing, going to conferences and having consultations. It’s worth it!

Note: Some guidelines adapted from The Society of Children's Book Writers & Illustrators' handout, "Manuscript Consultations."  

Preparing a Reading of a Historical Document

Jana Segal

I had such a good time performing the reading of Sharlott Hall's short 1880's story, “The Fruit of the Yucca Tree,” at the Tombstone Territory Rendezvous last year that I decided to do another reading. After some discussion about what would be a good fit for this group of Tombstone enthusiasts, historians and researchers, organizer Jennifer Lewis and I came up with the idea doing a reading from pioneer letters or journals from the Southwest. Jenn generously did some speedy research and found, “The Journal of Mrs. Mary Ringo.” It's the mother of Johnny Ringo's accounts of her family's wagon train trek from Liberty, Missouri to Austin, Nevada. I perused the journal. It included plenty of hardships and Indian attacks! We were set!

So, how do you cut a 38 page journal into a 4 ½ page script?

First, I read it through marking all the juicy parts and possible story threads that could be built into a compelling story. For instance, I marked all the passages about Indians - including the interactions with friendly Indians so I would have rising and falling action. I wanted to show some of the scenic beauty along the way and their daily activities without getting too boring or repetitious. On a second read, I included a strand about the sick cattle. I figured that the TTR audience would be interested in anything about the young Johnny Ringo (who later became a famous outlaw) so I marked the little I could find about him. The most dramatic journal entry was Mary Ringo's account of her husband's death, so I decided to set up his character by including whatever I could find about him.

I typed up all the journal entries I had selected – double spaced to have room for the comments when I “break down” the script. Since this is a historical journal, I decided to stay true to it by not changing Mary's wording. But I did cut sentences here and there to lessen repetition and boring details (like how many miles they traveled each day.) I tweaked and cut until it flowed as a story.

Time for some research -

I did a little research to find out Johnny's age at the time of the wagon trip (Johnny was 14) and the route they were traveling (from Liberty, Missouri to Austin, Nevada). I also found some facts about Johnny that I could use in my introduction. Johnny Ringo (also known as Ringo) started his life of crime by killing a man in the Mason County War. He later ended up in Tombstone embroiled in a conflict with Doc Holliday. Wyatt Earp went after Ringo believing that he was one of the Cowboys responsible the murder of his little brother Morgan. My next step was to look up any old-timey words that I didn't know so I could interpret it accurately.

Next, I “breakdown” the manuscript.

I underline the words I want to emphasis and put slashes where I want to pause for effect. I mark different parts for tempo - for instance exciting passages that I want to read fast or sentences I want to sloooow down. I love it when I find a line I can YELL (and wake up that audience.) At this point, I practice it aloud and circle lines that are awkward to say so I can work on them. I might watch a period accurate movie set in the same time period to get a sense of the dialect. If I'm having trouble with some stiff dialogue, I might leave the page and try saying it in my own words to get more conversational.

Now I put on my actor hat, and re-read the journal for hints of who Mary was so I can flesh out her character. (For example, Mary Ringo bought a new dress along the way so she cared about her appearance. She also puts a positive slant on everything.) I might even write my own journal entry in her voice to really get in her head. I search for sections where I can add emotions and mark them. I ask myself how she would feel about a certain situation. Are there any clues about how she feels? I try to incorporate as many emotions as I can and contrast them. I work towards building the emotions to a dramatic climax.

How do I know when I've practiced enough?

I practice it until I know it well enough that I can look up from the page to the audience. At some point, I like to read it out loud to another person – so I get used to having an audience. This helps offset stage fright. If I can, I practice in the space to get comfortable there. It's really about reaching a certain level of comfort and confidence – then let me at it! I'm ready to perform!  

Unruly Weaving

by Lorna Kerin Beall

For a change of pace in our blog, I’m talking about something humorous (and I admit, naughty) that I did as a child.

When I was twelve years old, besides doing outdoor chores, it was my job to dust the living room of our humble, but cozy farmhouse. When I entered the room, I couldn’t help but groan. My older stepbrother, Bobby had been fixing a radio on the coffee- table. He’d left wires, parts and various tools scattered all over. This wasn’t unusual. He was always puttering with one thing or another in our front room. And of course, in my parents’ eyes, 15-year-old Bobby could do no wrong.

"How can he leave such a disaster in the living room, and yet have a spotless bedroom?" I asked myself. The last time I’d called him for supper, I’d taken a good peek. Nothing was out of place. The room was perfect. The bed was made and his shoes were lined neatly by it. All his clothes were hung up. And even his old electronic magazines were displayed in the artful shape of a fan! He had a big bedroom. Why the heck couldn’t he fix all those old radios and things in there?

And then I had an inspiration. I knew Bobby had gone somewhere with a friend. I hurried to his room, tumbling the covers on his bed. I even threw his pillow on the floor. I scattered his magazines. And as I was leaving, for good measure, I gave his colorful throw rug a big kick.

Of course, Bobby tattled. Mom told me later, that she couldn’t believe her ears! (She thought I was such a goody-two-shoes.) “I don’t know what got into Lorna,” she told him. “And the only thing I can think to have you do is to mess up her room.”

Bobby loved the idea. For once my bedroom was clean, and he messed it up good. He even pulled some stuff out of my trash and set it about, including a partly eaten powdered sugar donut. He could hardly wait till I went in.

But the joke was on Bobby. I sailed into my room and sat down on the rumpled bed. Removing the donut from on top of my book, I took a bite (it wasn’t too bad). Then I proceeded to read.

I still chuckle over the incident. I can’t remember if I apologized. I hope so. Bobby passed away several years ago. And I picture him up in Heaven, shaking his head and chuckling. In spite of our squabbles, he always had a good sense of humor.

A Celebration of My Creative Mind (or Overcoming Writers' Block)

fast writing sample. Notice messy writing in the columns.

items crossed out weren't edited, but checked off because I used them in story.

Jana Segal

After getting some good feedback from the Scriptwriter’s Network, I was anxious, no, excited to begin rewriting my modern day Tombstone comedy, “Behind the OK Corral.” And I was motivated! A potential manager would be reading my revised script soon! Then life happened. My mom came to visit and we started this blog to promote our writing. I attended to two baby showers and a wedding in Missouri. I get home, all rarin' to write and....my husband asks for a divorce. Five days later he loses his job. So I've got all kinds of thoughts going through my head... How is this gonna affect our boys? How am I going to get a job after being out of the workplace for 25 years? In a single day I had every emotion in the book rushing through my body – panic, anger, loneliness, sadness, fear, relief, and anger. After the initial shock wore off, I put together a resume and went on my first job interview. I tried to be kind to myself and give myself time to grieve the loss of the marriage. But what I really wanted to do was write. And I was angry that I couldn't. But to write, you have to use your brain and mine was just a little preoccupied at the moment. When things finally settled down, I sat down pen in hand. I came up with nothing, nada. My brain was blank. But I was determined. I read over the notes from Scriptwriter's Network. Great advice. Nothing. I reread my writer's notebook. Nothing. I scribbled in my notebook. Still nothing. I was officially in a writers block.

Let me define what I consider writer's block. It is when I can't for the life of me figure out what to write or I'm stuck on how to solve some story problem. My mind has gone blank for a period of time. Articles have been written on how to overcome writer's block. One suggestion is to get some distance from the problem by going for a walk, painting a picture, or planting a garden. Just relax and the answer will come to you while you're taking a shower or washing dishes. This generally happens when you have already been mulling over your story for awhile. There was a seed of an idea. Sometimes inspiration comes BANG from something you read or see on the news. When this happens, be thankful and, for Pete's sake, write! It is a gift from God.

I believe that usually you need to plant the seed before inspiration will grow. That is why writing is work. Sometimes you have to force yourself to write something on that blank page. It is easier to keep writing if you have already been writing (the rock in motion theory), so it is important to develop a writing habit. Writing on a regular schedule (whether once a day or once a week) tells your subconscious that you're serious about writing. This is the cool part - your subconscious will actually continue to write even when you aren't consciously working on it. When things are really stewing in my subconscious, the ideas just flow. I feel a certain euphoria that resembles being in love. I call this being in a “writing mood.” It is one reason I write.

But how do you plant the seed? One trick I use is to write a question down in my notebook which I fully expect my subconscious to work on. (It is also helpful to do this right before you go to bed especially on the evening before you start a new project.) Then just write. Write anything. Don't edit. Just crap on the page. This part of the process should be messy. That's all right. There's even a name for it. It's called “fast writing” (from the excellent book, “Writing Down the Bones.”) Have faith. The ideas will come. It is all in you. You just need to let go and write. The important thing is not to edit – that blocks the creative mind. Just resign yourself – the first draft will be crap. Think of it as the discovery draft. You just want to release it from your head and onto the page. There will be plenty of time to sort it out and edit later when you rewrite. And you will rewrite.

Speaking of rewriting, lets get back to my recent writer's block. It was the result of interrupting my writing schedule which made it a struggle to get my head back into the story. But even with some monumental distractions, I overcame my block by using the techniques above and having faith that the answers would come when they were ready. And they did.

Now back to my screenwriting... :)

The Mended Valentine

by Lorna Kerin Beall

Years ago I had a beautiful blue willow platter that I treasured hanging on my dining room wall. One day when I was gone, my two younger daughters chased each other around the table, and knocked the platter down, shattering it. Filled with remorse, they found each miniscule piece and glued it back together again. I promptly hung it up again. My oldest daughter, Jana, pointed out something I already knew. The platter was ugly. But I persisted in leaving it up for years. Finally, in an act of love, Jana replaced it. I took the broken platter down, and proudly hung the new one. But I still cherish the remembrance of how my younger daughters so lovingly mended the other. That incident and something a friend told me about an experience of hers inspired this little piece.

The Mended Valentine

When my friend’s lovely home burned,

with all its fancy furnishings and fine collectibles,

she said the thing she regretted losing the most

was a torn and taped-together valentine.

Her grown son had made it when he was just 6 years old.

She’d been canning that day long ago,

and was tightening the lid on her last jar of peaches,

as her boy labored to get both sides even on a valentine.

His little tongue was stuck out in concentration,

as he drew and smudged and erased, again and again.

She tried to help, but was pushed politely away.

“Must be for that little red-headed girl he likes,

the one who lives in the brown house down the street,”

she told herself, as she continued her tiresome canning job.

She sighed. The steam from the kettle, the 100 degree heat,

and the blazing wood stove were wearing her down.

With great effort, she hoisted the last rack of filled mason jars

from the giant pot that was boiling and splattering on the stove.

In the hot sun streaming through the kitchen windows

the peaches in the glass jars looked like gold.

But they felt more like lead.

She fanned herself with her wilted apron.

Her son chose that moment to hand her his creation.

“For me?” she asked, taking it, but then setting it down,

as she pushed the kettle to a cooler spot on the stove.

When she turned back she saw that her teary-eyed son

Had snatched it up, and was ripping it to bits.

She tried to hug him, but he pulled away, and ran from the room.

She got down on her knees and picked up each tiny piece.

She put the valentine back together with tape, tears and love,

And after she showed it to him, she placed it with all of her other treasures, in an old cedar chest.

My friend had saved the valentine all those many years.

Occasionally when the chest was opened,

her tall and bearded son would pick up the valentine,

admonishing her for keeping the silly old thing.

And sometimes, his face as red as the valentine he’d made,

he’d even admit that he was glad she had.

And though the mended valentine is long gone,

along with the polished keepsake chest that held it,

I know it remains secure and cherished in both their hearts.

My Storytelling Journey

Jana Segal

I started attending Tucson's Teller of Tale's storytelling meetings three years ago. As a part of each meeting we would go around the room introducing ourselves. Every time I would say, “I'm here to enjoy the stories and hopefully get inspired to do a story some day.” This went on for years, until one day... they stopped having introductions.

It had been so long since I had been in a play - since before the kids were born. But I finally got that ol' itch to perform again. So when master storyteller Glenda Bonin offered a storytelling workshop, I dug out my one-woman “storytelling” musical, Magic Shoes, polished it up, and e-mailed it to her. Knowing my theater background, Glenda cautioned me about trying to act. Storytellers TELL their stories off the top of their heads. Enchanted by the story, she agreed to let me read (and sing) it at the storytelling workshop anyway. With all the carefully crafted description, we discovered that it was really more of a one-woman musical than a storytelling piece. I watched in awe as the other students actually told their stories – hoping to become inspired to do it too. Someday.

Someday came sooner than I expected when Glenda asked me if I wanted to work on a story for the professional studio recording of TOT members. While listening to other members practice, I finally got inspired! I remembered Sharlot Hall's 1880's Christmas story, “The Fruit of the Yucca Tree” that I had adapted for my short chick Western, Desert Angel. I was excited about revisiting that touching story. So I condensed it and revised it and started memorizing it (which I wasn't supposed to do) and got cold feet. I told Glenda I wouldn't be able to do it. It had been so long since I had even memorized a monologue.

Glenda gently encouraged me. She suggested that I read the story for the recording. And I sure hated to miss this opportunity to be recorded on a CD with professional storytellers! She made it so easy for me. I practiced it on my own. Then she timed my story as I read it over the phone. She said it was a lovey piece. I wasn't sure if I was ready, but thanks to Glenda's support and incredible patience, I got through it. I am proud to be on a professional storytellers' CD.

Since I was already practiced up, I volunteered to read the story for the Tombstone historians and enthusiasts at the Tombstone Territory Rendezvous. Unfortunately, some of us went dancing the night before and I must have been shouting over the music, because the next morning my voice was horse and barely audible. Afraid that no one would be able to hear me, I tried to arrange for a microphone - with no luck. When I got up to the podium, I found that I couldn't see the words on the page. I had to wear my new glasses. (Which also made me feel old since last time I was on stage I didn't need glasses.) A friend in the front row said that I looked nervous for a moment as I adjusted my glasses. The next thing I knew, it was over and the audience was applauding. Historian Casey Teffertiller graciously commented that I had a gift!

After that Glenda said it was time for me to do actual storytelling – not a reading, not a memorized monologue. She said I knew my story and I should just “tell it” at the annual TOT Christmas party. At Glenda's suggestion, I made an outline and tried to visualize the story. Lounging on our host's sofa, my fellow storytellers took turns telling their favorite Christmas stories. My story would fit in perfectly! I opted for more bean dip instead.

I discovered that I knew it better than I thought when the dialogue kept running through my head. So, after recovering from the shame of not performing, I agreed to do the storytelling performance to promote the Teller of Tales CD at Bookmans. I decided that it was alright to memorize the dialogue because of the distinct old timey dialect. It shouldn't be that hard because it was the same dialogue I knew from my short film. And I worked at paraphrasing the rest. I wasn't at all sure that I was ready for this. I was scared to death that I would forget a line and lose my place. But with my son Vlad there for support, I ran the story through in my head on the bus ride to Bookmans. Vlad helped me on with my 1880's apron and I went for it. There were sections I forgot, but in the grand tradition of theater, I kept going. And then it happened. I started telling it to the two little kids in the audience. (Vlad tells me the kids laughed.) I know their mom hung on every word! Then, just like that, it was over. Glenda asked if I wanted to do it again. Heck, no! I just got through it!

Delighting in Books

by Lorna Kerin Beall

When my daughter, Jana, was here we had a great time visiting the Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum in Mansfield, Missouri. It was a beautiful July day, surprisingly not too hot. We enjoyed the museum, the grounds, and touring both homes. Two of my favorite things were the buggy they traveled to Missouri in and Pa’s fiddle. I also love the paper dolls of Laura and her sisters that I bought in the gift shop for my granddaughter’s birthday.

As Jana and I looked at the books, I was intrigued once again by how both Laura and her daughter, Rose, were writers. (As Jana and I are.) I have always loved Laura’s Little House books (especially since I also write children's books.) I’d recently purchased a used copy of Rose’s Young Pioneers that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Both Laura’s and Rose’s books were exciting survival stories where the protagonists

faced all kinds of dangers and challenges. (Often on the prairie.) The Little House books had more description. (Something I don’t care for in other books.) But seeing things through young Laura’s eyes was different. I ate it up like my grandma’s Finnish pulla. (cinnamon rolls.) Perhaps this was due to the fact that when Laura’s sister, Mary, lost her vision, young Laura became her eyes, describing everything for her. This enabled Laura to see everything in a new and fresh way. Sometimes with wonder and delight. And sometimes with dismay and hurt. This came through in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s writing.

Though Laura and her family overcome all sorts of challenges and problems in the Little House books, and there’s plenty of plot, I feel the books are definitely character-driven. I feel I know spunky little Laura who got all excited over a tin cup, a stick of candy and a penny for Christmas. 

"The Help" - Some Traditions are Meant to be Broken

There are some wonderful films that give you a taste of the Southern traditions - “Steel Magnolias” and “Fried Green Tomatoes” being among my favorites. But some traditions are meant to be broken. “The Help,” set in 1960s Jackson, Mississippi, is the first film to deal with the shared delusion that blacks and whites are separate in the South. Despite the Jim Crow laws designed to keep them apart, their lives have been intertwined since the days of slavery. Generations of white children have been raised by their black “maids.”

When the president of her bridge club drafts up a petition for a law forcing people to have separate bathrooms for their black servants, housekeeping columnist Skitter decides to draft something that will make a difference – a book on “the help's” perspective. The problem is that it's the dawn of the civil rights movement when blacks are still being lynched outside their homes. The maids could lose more than their jobs. It is inspiring to watch these women stand up for what's right despite their fears. Change starts with one act of courage.

Movie blessings!
Jana Segal

Check out my complete review at:  www.reelinspiration.blogspot.com

Servin' up Wormy Beans with Sisu

 by Lorna Kerin Beall

“Ugh,” “Ick,” and “Eww,” Nana's grandchildren responded when she told them how her family survived on wormy beans one hard Minnesota winter when she was a child. Nana smacked her lips, "Yum! Protein!"  I wasn’t so shocked. After all, didn’t they normally eat weird things like pickled pigs feet, and pig brains (that went by the name of headcheese?) I’d even heard that they, as well as my own family, ate rattlesnakes!

Little did I know at the time that wormy beans would play such a big part in the middle-grade novel I would someday write. “The Wormy Bean Winter," is based on real-life events of my Finnish American family. Though, as my husband Richard likes to point out,  it was his side of the family who actually ate the wormy beans!

In a card promoting my manuscript, I included the synopsis, “Kata didn’t realize that something as tiny as a wormy bean could be the difference between disaster and survival. While homesteading on the South Dakota prairie during the harsh winter of 1919, her family was barely surviving on their last bag of beans. When they discovered they were eating beans infested with worms, Pappa went to work in a copper mine leaving 12-year-old Kata in charge of the outdoor chores in the bitter cold. What was worse was that Papa’s confidence in Kate was bean-sized, too. She had to prove her sisu, the Finnish word for guts and determination, while she faced challenges like her baby sister’s ear nearly freezing off, vicious old “Three-Toes” the wolf, and all her sisters’ refusal to eat the wormy beans even if it meant starvation!”

I loved writing the book and coming to know more about my family. And I am so thankful for the humor, sisu and faith that both our families had when they helped settle this wild and wondrous country.  

Our "Little House on the Prairie" Dresses

Jana Segal

While my mom devoured the Little House books, I was more into the TV series. As a child, I remember being glued to the TV to watch Half-pint (Laura), Mary, Ma and Pa on Little House on the Prairie every week. My pre-adolescent heart beat a little faster when curly haired Michael Landon flashed that gorgeous smirk of his. My annoying father would walk in front of the TV flicking his tongue distastefully, “Bluck. Bluck.” But that show meant a lot to me. I always wanted to be an actress and child star Melissa Gilbert gave me hope with her two front teeth slightly protruding. In addition to our matching smiles, I resembled her in other ways - especially that button nose. (Imagine my dismay when my childhood doppelganger had her nose and teeth fixed.)

A popular show in the 70s, Little House on the Prairie had an impact on the fashions of the time. I remember all the girls at church wearing long, maxi dresses. In our family there was very little money to buy new cloths. Mostly we wore hand-me-downs and thrift shop finds (way before it was trendy.) I remember one of the few times we got something new. Dad had gotten free tickets to the fair. I don't know what possessed him, but he bought all five of us girls - mom included - matching pink and white gingham maxi dresses with bonnets. (One of us must have destroyed the Polaroid of the five of us from Mom, teenage me, preteen sis on down to the baby in our matching Little House on the Prairie dresses.) We had so few clothes so at any given time at least three of us had to wear the offending dresses to church on Sunday. Oh. Oh. Painful memory. In the church parking lot. Climbing out of the bed of the truck wearing my Little House maxi dress and tennis shoes.

Despite the embarrassing dresses, I was always loyal to the program. Growing up as the oldest daughter, I was a timid, overly obedient child. My one act of rebellion was standing up to my dad when he forbid me to watch my beloved Little House on the Prairie because it was too dramatic and “sappy.” I remember crying, “Mom! It is so unfair!” This was the most wholesome, Christian show on television!

It's funny how things come full circle. After I was grown and married, mom dug out one of the gingham dresses for my costume collection. When she and my nieces came to visit us, we dragged out my costume box and all dressed up 1880's style to visit the old West tourist town of Tombstone. One of my little nieces continued the family tradition by wearing the pink gingham dress and bonnet with her tennis shoes!

Inspirational Visit to Laura Ingalls Wilder's Rocky Ridge Farmhouse

Jana Segal

While visiting my mom in Missouri, we took a self-guided tour of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Rocky Ridge Farmhouse in Mansfield where Laura wrote the beloved Little House books. What a lovely day!  The introduction included a charming documentary featuring a recording of the elderly Laura making a speech about how everything that she wrote about really happened to her. 

While touring the museum, I was struck by the similarities between the mother-daughter relationship of Rose Wilder and Laura Ingalls Wilder and my own relationship with my mother. The first thing I noticed was that mother and daughter were both writers - just as we are. Laura's daughter Rose was a successful writer and editor for the San Francisco Bulletin when she encouraged her mother to jot down her stories. Rose used that expertise to give her mom feedback on her work - just as I gave mom feedback on her children's manuscript. It was encouraging to read that Laura's first book, "Little House in the Big Woods" wasn't published until she was a senior citizen in 1932.  (See, mom, there's hope for you yet!) Inspired by her mom's stories, Rose went on to write, "The Young Pioneers." Likewise,  I was inspired to adapt my mom's family story, "Model T Biscuits" for the big screen. 

my 1880s writing desk

As Mom and I toured the farmhouse, I felt a kinship with Laura and her daughter Rose. Noticing all the pioneer mementos, I sensed that we shared a common nostalgia for South Dakota homesteading heritage. (Mom writes about her own family's South Dakota homesteading adventures in her book, "Wormy Bean Winter.") We spoke to one volunteer who used to be a teacher. She recalled how Laura liked to come to her classroom and read her books. My mom also loved to read her books in me and my siblings' childhood classrooms. 

I looked around and saw that we weren't the only ones who felt a special bond with Laura and Rose Wilder. There were people from all over the country (and other countries too) and even a Mennonite family who related to those cherished Little House books.

Laura Ingalls Wilder's Rocky Ridge Farmhouse museum site:

http://www.lauraingallswilderhome.com

Video of the Rocky Ridge Farmhouse property

Fountain Pens and Other New-fangled Writing Tools

by Lorna Kerin Beall 

My daughter, Jana, had to drag me kicking and fighting like a roped calf into doing this blog. I also bellowed when my girls first suggested I use the computer instead of my typewriter. They said something like, "Mom you need to enter the 20th century. Using the computer makes writing so much easier." (Of course now I’m saving a ton of money on Wite-Out.)

In my defense, I remember being forced to use a fountain pen in penmanship class. As a fourth grader at Riverview Grade school in Prosser, Washington in l951 (or was it 1952?) having to use that fountain pen made me feel like I was a forced to use quill and ink. (Now I’d love that old-timey feeling, but back then it wasn’t a positive thing.) In fact, because of the inkwells, I was sure we students were still sitting at in the same ancient, dilapidated desks once used by pioneer children!

I had to dip and hold the tip of my pen in the ink bottle (which did not fit in the manufactured hole in th e desk) and pull a little gadget on the pen which filled it. Then I was free, not to create, but to practice my cursive over and over. This resulted in drips and mess and much blotting. I was assured this was the most modern way to write. (Now where have I heard that before?) 
                                                            

Fortunately, the next year my fifth grade teacher, whose birthday was the same day as mine, drove out a whole six miles to our little stucco farm house for a fried chicken dinner and homemade birthday cake. Besides a big dose of confidence, he gave me - marvel of all marvels - my very first ball point pen! Did he guess that this shy, freckled-faced ten-year-girl would one day be a writer?

So here I am blogging once again. Actually, I have to admit it is fun. And it’s especially rewarding because of those of you who read and/or respond to our blog so graciously.

Rag Dolls and Kewpies

by Lorna Kerin Beall


I recently attended an OWAIC Writing for Children conference in Springfield with two of my good friends. Though it wasn’t the main theme of the conference, the focus that I came home with was to "write from the heart."

I hadn’t planned to buy a book but keynote speaker Paula Morrow, the editor and publisher of Boxing Tree Books, put out copies of the book, Rose O’Neil, The Girl Who Loved to Draw, by Linda Brewster. (Rose O’Neil was the creator of the Kewpie Doll.) It’s a beautiful book with innumerable pictures illustrating Rose’s life as an artist by both Ms. O’Neil and author Ms. Brewster. It’s a feast for eyes and heart. And I loved how, in the early chapters, the author captured the child like wonder of little Rosie. 

But one reason I wanted this book was because it reminded me of the Kewpie doll that I got when I was four-years-old and living with my Finnish Mumu in the tiny town of Buffalo, South Dakota.

When I was six, my Mama married my Step-Daddy and we were about to head out West to find a new home. I wrapped Kewpie in tissue paper, and after a final kiss, put her in a Buster Brown shoe box and packed her with the rest of our things in the back seat. She traveled with us to an apple picking camp in Hood River, Oregon. I felt bad that Kewpie was missing the sights like the huge Hood River and Mount Hood. The mountain looked like my Grandpa with its white head and beard of snow. But I was happy that Kewpie was with us. At least I got to cuddle the Raggedy-Ann my Mumu had made. We’d tell Kewpie everything when we got to our brand new own home. (Our oma tupa.)

We loved our new stucco-covered home in Prosser, Washington even though Mama said it looked like a chicken coop and we had to use the outhouse at first. Snug in our oma tupa,  I gave both Kewpie and Raggedy Ann a goodnight kiss every single night. 

I still have my porcellin Kewpie though her “skin” is cracked and wrinkled much like my own. Sometimes it's good to unpack childhood toys and family heirlooms to see what precious memories they conjure up and what stories they inspire. I appreciate the sweet reminder I got to "write from the heart"  from the conference, Linda Brewster’s book, and memories of my beloved Kewpie Doll.

Weavings of Another Kind: Braided Pulla and Love.

by Lorna Kerin Beall

In Model T Biscuits Mama, Step-daddy and six-year-old Lorna head cross country in their Model T picking apples along the way to stretch their meager nest egg until they can find a little farm of their own. Mama shows her sisu, the Finnish word for guts, determination, and ingenuity, when she’s faced with no oven in the apple-picking camp. She surprises Lorna and Step-Daddy by baking biscuits on the engine (actually the flat head) of the Model T.

Earlier in the story, Step-Daddy recalls Mumu's baking. He rubs his belly and says, "That house always smelled of fresh bread." 

Lorna answers, "Know how we made it? Know how Mumu and I got the bread so skinny? And made the outside so crispy? We rolled the dough out flat. Then poke, poke, poke, we poked holes in it. Then we baked it smack-dab! - on the bottom of the oven. Mumu even let me..."

While I was writing Model T Biscuits, I tried to weave some Finnish customs and language into the story. One way I did this was by including traditional Finnish food. My mama, as well as my Finnish Mumu who raised me up until this point, loved to bake heino leipä: Finnish flat bread, pulla: Finnish cinnamon rolls, and other braided kinds of pulla. My Mumu’s little home in Buffalo, South Dakota, always smelled of fresh-baked pastry. And the kahvi pot was always on for neighbors or passers-by who were welcome to pop in. Tugging her little sled, my small cousin, Willo Boe and our Mumu delivered homemade bread to shut-ins and other friends. In my story, the family heads out West and Lorna frets that Mumu won’t be able to deliver bread without her, since the wheel on her wobbly little wagon is broken.

The smell of fresh baked goods brings back cherished memories of Mumu and Mama baking in our big black cast iron stove. All kinds of love was kneaded and braided into these Finnish delights.

Here are two recipes that I included in prologue of, “Model T Biscuits.”  

MODEL T DROP BISCUITS

(Kids, you’ll need your Mama’s or Mumu’s help.)

Start up the Model T engine. Let it warm up.

If you don’t have a Model T, heat oven to 450 degrees.

Model T directions: Grease tin cake pan

Bake covered.

Oven: Use a tin cake pan. Do not grease. Do not cover.

2 cups flour

l/2 tsp. salt

4 teaspoons baking powder

l/2 teaspoon cream of tartar

2 teaspoons sugar

l/2 cup of lard or shortening

¾ cup buttermilk (Used canned milk in the Picking Camp.)

Mix dry ingredients. Add the lard or shortening.

Then add milk. Stir gently till soft dough forms.

Model T: Drop by spoonfuls on a greased cake pan.

Oven: Drop by spoonfuls onto an ungreased cake pan..

Model T: Check frequently.

Oven: Bake for seven to nine minutes.

*Or buy canned biscuit dough from the supermarket.

Make and bake according to directions on the package.

Serve the biscuits hot with butter and honey.

IF POSSIBLE LOOK AT SUNRISE WHILE EATING.