Showing posts with label Lori Nawyn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lori Nawyn. Show all posts

day dreamer

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C.K. Bryant is an award winning author of YA Paranormal, Romance & Fantasy who blogs about life and writing. I enjoy reading her guest interviews and one of my favorite blogs she's done recently is about fingerless mittens! I've long been a fan of fingerless mittens and gloves because my fingers get claustrophobia in the fingered ones. C.K. posted several photos of cute and stylish mittens that have got me longing to go out and buy more. She even made a pair of her own which are beautiful. I wish I had her talent so I could make lots and lots of them!

I'm honored to be a guest on Day Dreamer today and you can read the interview here.

Thank you, C.K.!

book cover

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I just received an email from my editor with the cover of my new novel.

Wow!

Thanks, Sam. You made my day.
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These past few weeks have been a jumble of trying to merge old commitments with new responsibilities.

In the middle of it all my website went down--permanently it seems--and I had to change email servers. Comments for the book contest I ran a few weeks ago got lost in the shuffle. Deleted. I know they were there . . . once . . . I just don't know where they are now.

Humble apologies!

If you see your comment here with the original contest post, you're okay. Entered in the book giveaway. Not lost. Counted among the commenters, etc.

If your comment is not there, you can assume your remarks were unintentionally lost in cyberspace. Poof. Gone. Misplaced without intentional misplacement. Please, if you see fit, feel free to comment again.

I'll try not to lose you . . . again.

For those lost, I'm extending the contest to July 31.

Sincere thanks for your understanding.

contest

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I've been wanting to give away a signed copy of the new book I illustrated What Are You Thinking? in preparation for its release in July.

It's been almost two years since Valerie and I first met and started to toss around ideas. In some ways that seems like a long, long time ago. In other ways like it was just yesterday.

Initial response to the book has been wonderful, and we couldn't be more thrilled to finally have it in our hands. Valerie is a talented author whose message is sure to touch many lives. I'm honored to have been given the opportunity to be a part of her vision.

A couple of reviews:

"Fantastic! I love to see these principles taught in a fun way to kids. I will definitely share this book with my children, and strongly recommend that if you want to give your kids a tremendous advantage for reaching their highest potential, you'll do the same." --Garrett B. Gunderson, Entrepreneur and New York Time best selling author of Killing Sacred Cows

"At the earliest age our children need to be introduced to the idea that their thoughts are powerful. They need to be taught how to become more aware of how their thinking affects every aspect of their lives. Our children are not taught how to do this. I applaud this simple but powerful book for introducing this critical concept at the earliest of ages." Gordon S. Bruin, M.A., L.P.C., American Board Certified, President, Innergold Counseling Services, Inc.

In celebration, I'm giving away a copy of the book. All you need to do is comment on this post and tell me:

1. Why you'd like like to have a copy--either for yourself or a child in your life.

AND


2. Why you believe positive thoughts are so important.

The deadline is two weeks from today: midnight (mountain) Wednesday, July 7. U.S. residents only.

Fly: A Story of Adventure

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Sometimes we stumble upon who we are by accident, and what we want to do--or feel we should do--with our lives is thrust before us when we least expect it. Generally, however, it takes a great deal of hard work to find out what really makes us tick. For some people self-discovery is a combination of luck, divine providence, and introspect; something occurs in our lives that triggers a thought that leads to taking action.

My grandfather, H.L., was a person who experienced a mix of factors that ultimately led him to his destiny.

A self-made man he spent his life pursuing a dream: flying. Growing up he yearned to attend flight school, but his father clipped his wings. Being the eldest son of a poor farmer did not align him with those who could afford such luxuries. One day circumstance aligned itself with fate and he saw a magazine in an Idaho drugstore. In that magazine was a photo--a photo of a craft that hovered over the ice. It sent his mind soaring. If he couldn't take to the skies, perhaps, he thought, it might be possible for him to fly just above the earth . . .

. . .or the snow.

What ensued is legend in my family. Tales that have been told and retold: Grandpa's bold adventures in the snow bound vistas of western Wyoming and eastern Idaho, his travels to Alaska to sell his inventions--Sno-Planes--to Eskimos, and his desire for speed that led him to win the races that were eventually created to showcase his dream turned reality.

Over the years I thought it wasn't my right to tell Grandpa's story. My father and his brothers knew my grandfather much better, and for much longer, than I. They were the little boys who were right there with him, along for the ride as he flew over both snow and ice. But of late I've realized that there's part of the story only I can tell. The part of adoring granddaughter whose imagination was captured by tales of the past, whose mind took flight when the man she revered as a hero spoke of his life and dreams, his blue eyes dancing in delight with each reminisce.

And so, with two of my general fiction novels in the hands of publishers and two in the hands of agents, I've decided not to sit by the phone and wait for what I hope will be good news. I've decided to start my second young adult novel--the story of my life with my grandfather. Because even though what I've written so far is near and dear to my heart, Grandpa's story and how it impacted me is the novel of a lifetime I must write. I'm still doing the course work for life's class on who I am and telling this tale is part of what I need to do.

Joy and Celebration: The Best Days of My Life

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Can I back up a minute?

Can I post something else today?

Here's what I want to tell you: two weeks ago my youngest had a very important audition. The fact that it even came about was nothing less than a miracle. It wasn't something she asked for or even anticipated.

It fell into her life like a star shooting from heaven.

She held it in her hands with wonder. And a good deal of fear. This stuff only happens to other people, doesn't it? Like in the movies? Her questions caught me off guard.

I am a master of self-doubt, prone to view the miracles in my life as accidents--meant for someone else because I'm not deserving enough to receive them. Why? Back when I was not much older than my daughter I remember having one of the best days of my life. Everything was going well. I enjoyed a run of success in my schoolwork--things I hadn't before understood that finally came into view--and I'd recently made friends with several kids who enriched my life immeasurably. I asked my mother, "Why is this happening to me--all this good stuff?" Her response was simple and to the point: I don't know. She shrugged her shoulders and walked away.

I stood on the back porch steps and felt like a fool. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb! The impression left by my mother was that it was all an accident and I was a fool to think anything good could be intended for me. I've carried that experience around with me ever since.

Back to my own daughter. Her audition went well, better than expected. When the doors closed behind us she was overjoyed. She'd done the thing she never imagined possible. She'd conquered her fear and come out victorious. She wanted to jump and shout right there in the hallway. I told her no, let's wait until we get outside. Why? Ghosts from my past cast shadows I felt powerless to dispel. By the time we left the building she was feeling the phantoms of self-doubt herself. She didn't jump. She didn't shout.

Last Friday, I completed my YA manuscript. It's been six long months of agonizing over whether or not I was writer enough to do it, to finish what had been burning in my heart, but what had been held down by fear. Fear of failure. Fear of not measuring up as a writer. Fear of so many things I can't even name them all. When the finished novel was ready to go and I hit send I didn't jump. I didn't shout. Why?

I feel joy for myself. I feel joy for my daughter. Why is it so hard to let it out? Still, after all these years? I don't want it to be. I want to be able to celebrate, and so this morning I'm making a choice: chase away self-doubt.

Jump.

Shout.

Celebrate.

Live.

As soon as my daughter wakes up we're going to make this the best day of our lives. The first of many.

Out of the Shadows and into the Light

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It's March. Spring is on the way. Life couldn't be better.

I'm in debt to many of you for your kindness,
prayers, and emails.

I'm back out among the living. My manuscript is finished and
in the hands of the agent who requested it; one small step
in the world of writerly things perhaps, but a huge step for me.

Thank you.


Featured Artist

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I'm excited and honored to be this week's featured artist on Manic's Author/Illustrator Network. Click here to view.

Stolen Christmas

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What happens when you’re so poor you have to steal your Christmas presents? Have you ever taken a punch in the face as your Christmas gift to the girl you love? Or saved Christmas while hunting were-weevils?

The award-winning stories from seventeen LDS authors featured in Stolen Christmas are the best of the best from the LDS Publisher Christmas Story Contests. From Christmases past, to present, to future; from sweet and inspirational, to zany and delightful—there’s a story for everyone in this eclectic collection. I'm excited and honored to have one of my short stories included.

Please visit LDS Publisher's blog to pre-order your copy here.

Love, Gram: The Art of Letter Writing

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“Love, Gram”
The Art of Letter Writing


Grandparents are blessed with the opportunity of contributing to their grandchildren’s lives in myriad ways, yet sometimes they struggle to be a vital part of their family’s world, especially if they live far away. Email can provide a vital link, however, even in this high tech day and age, there’s still nothing like good old-fashioned handwritten sentiment to touch hearts and bridge geographical and generational distance, working miracles that last a lifetime.

Growing up I lived within a few blocks of my maternal grandmother. After school I would rush to her home. Waiting with open arms she was always ready to give me a hug and ask about my day. She kept her cookie jar stocked with my favorites: spicy gingerbread with creamy white icing, pink cream wafers, and peanut-shaped cookies filled with peanut butter.

After helping myself to a couple of cookies and a glassful of milk, I would sit next to Grandma at her kitchen table as we discussed our lives. From experiences I had with other children—some not pleasant—to problems with my parents, and activities I looked forward to, I told Grandma about my heartaches and joys and she responded with compassion and love. In return, I listened and learned about what life was like when she
was a child. Days spent with no TV, no phone, and no electricity were fascinating to me, as were her tales of raising her own pet calf, Star, and the love she felt when her mother made her favorite jam in a special crock.

My paternal grandmother lived over two-hundred miles away yet her determination to share herself with me was no less intense. At least once every month I received a handwritten card or letter from her. Through her correspondence I not only learned about the frigid Idaho winters she and my grandfather endured in a little valley at the edge of the Snake River, but also about her hopes and dreams. Stories of adventures she shared with my grandfather, their travels, and her efforts to create quilts depicting the history of the town in which they lived, came alive for me and I saw her as a fascinating, heroic figure who I was proud to call my grandmother.

As I grew older the letters never ceased. Even through my sometimes turbulent teenage years, when I became wracked with doubt and lack of self-esteem, I knew—no matter what—that I was still valued and cherished. Assuring me of her confidence in my integrity and her belief in my abilities—and always signed, “Love, Gram”—her never preaching words of love, wisdom, and encouragement were my most cherished possessions.

When I married and had children the letters came with less frequency. Grandma’s once flawless handwriting became jagged as her gnarled hands shook with age over the effort of writing. Knowing how difficult the process had become for her I loved her more dearly with each letter I received. They became a priceless line of communication, from her heart to my mine, and also to the hearts of my children. Stories of she and Grandfather’s triumphs over age and the Idaho elements, as they continued on in faith endeavoring to retain their independence, their farm, and their herd of horses, were a true testament to my family of the strength of the human spirit and of great blessings that should never be taken for granted.

In 1922, philosopher and etiquette authority Emily Post included a section on the art of letter writing in her popular book on manners:

“. . . THE ART of general letter-writing in the present day is shrinking until the letter threatens to become a telegram, a telephone message, a post-card. It is the letter from the friend in this city to the friend in that, or from the traveling relative to the relative at home, that is gradually dwindling . . . The difference though, between letter-writers of the past and of the present, is that in other days they all tried to write, and to express themselves the very best they knew how – today people don’t care a bit whether they write well or ill.”

Some eighty years later, Post would surely be appalled to find email and text messaging to be the norm and that handwritten letters are a forgotten art, the crisp feel and texture of paper and envelopes replaced by a cold computer screen. Sadly, though technological advances provide us with the means to correspond more easily and more frequently, too often they encourage a level of communication that rarely enhances interpersonal relationships.

With the hope of discovering a good “handwritten” face, software companies have conducted typographical experimentation with numerous script typefaces. While one day they may be successful in developing a font that is close to imitating the intimate feeling one receives from getting a letter in the mail—versus an email in their inbox—there is no application that involves the same care, love, effort, and time that go into a handwritten letter. The computer screen will never match the warmth and human quality of the touch of pencil or pen to paper.

Though my grandmother has passed on I continue to find strength and direction in the words contained in the cards and letters she wrote years ago. Now, as a grandmother myself to two granddaughters, I look forward to keeping my cookie jar well stocked and to sharing special grandmother/granddaughter conversations.

I also look forward to passing on the art of letter writing. In the future, my granddaughters and I will surely use email to communicate. However, I am already giving priority to creating time to sit at my desk, pen in hand, to contemplate and record the things I want to share with my granddaughters when they get older. I want to teach them what I have learned and relate all that I feel I have yet to learn, hopes and dreams as well as things both sacred and miraculous in my life. In doing so I pray they will be proud to come to know who I really am and what I stand for. I believe that one day they will recognize my efforts as an act of love and know how much I value them through the letters I will sign, “Love, Gram.”
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