Chillin' Like a One-Legged Duck

Last spring, on a weekend-long double date to Disneyland, I was riding in the big blue boat, just about to enter Small World, when I looked over my shoulder and saw this duck. Now, Disneyland is full of wildlife--ducks and rabbits and cats all roam around freely, but this duck wasn't roaming anywhere. Look closely...the little fellow was balancing on one leg.

Nelson, husband of our double-date couple, is an avid sportsman and hunter, and he told me about ducks that--due to tourists and campers over-feeding--sometimes ducks will stay at a lake or pond long past the time when they should be migrating. And unexpected freeze will come, trapping them in the water. The only chance they have is to flap their wings and pull themselves out--sometimes leaving a leg behind. Sometimes it's a necessary sacrifice; other times, it's a matter of panic. A few hours' waiting might bring out the sun, warm up the ice enough to make it break.

Speaking of break--my heart broke for that little duck, probably because I know exactly how he feels.

You know what I mean--life is good, life is easy, you're just swimming--unruffled on the outside, paddling like crazy underneath--and then...Freeze. Maybe it's one too many obligations, maybe it's the sure thing that didn't turn out to be. A broken relationship, a financial crisis, illness, betrayal, death.

You can't move. You're frozen, and it's either sit and starve, or flap for freedom. Because there doesn't seem to be any hope for a thaw. And the sun seems so slow... I can't tell you how many legs I've lost because I was too impatient to wait for warmth.

But, then again, I look at what happened to that little duck. Somehow, he ended up nestled in a land of topiary, still and peaceful as boatloads of happy people pass by. How did he get there? Only God knows--but surely God loves this little Duck. And, you might be an odd little duck, but He loves you too! When you feel life freezing around you...wait. And if you've already flapped your leg off, know that He will carry you. He's a big God in a small world.

The LifeTime of a Deadline

Something fantastic happens on my television during the weeks between Thanksgving and Christmas. The screen fills with B-List actresses--Jennie Garth, Jennifer Grey, Nancy McKeon, the oldest Full House sister, Tori Spelling--each with her own harmlessly hunky guy. They put on quirky hats and frolic in HollyWood snow. Suddenly, Cananda becomes Seattle, Colorado, New York, Michigan, and even California--all blending together as the backdrop where attractive people fall in love and discover The True Meaning Of Christmas with the help of a mysterious Santa/Angel/Tree/Star/ or homeless person who is actually an Angel/Santa/Tree/Star. (OK, few homeless people actually end up being trees).

Honestly? These are my favorite, favorite, favorite movies.

In years past, I did something right, because I've always been pretty free during the LifeTime Christmas Movie Season. Deadlines were either right behind me, or far enough away that I could indulge in hours and hours of harmless Canarican drama. But not this year. Eve's Christmas? Comfort and Joy? A Very Married Christmas? All are tucked away in my DVR to be doled out 30 minutes at a time during my daily lunch hour, or in that hour between 11 and midnight if I decide that I'd rather watch Jennie Garth uncover a Secret Santa than read an actual book. A dear, sweet friend of mine actually sent me the DVD of my most favoritest of the genre, If You Believe, which I have actually hidden from myself. I don't get to touch it until I type "THE END."

So, who knows? Maybe I'll be ringing in the new year with Susan Lucci's Ebenezer Scrooge. Or, I might be celebrating Valentine's Day with Olivia Newton-John and Tom Wopat. I may have to cheat a little and watch Tony Danza and Leah Thompson, because that kiss in the snow in front of his truck makes me melt, but the others are just the tasty carrot I'm dangling in front of myself to keep me going.

It's a most wonderful time of year!

Warning: Mixed Metaphors Ahead...

Failure is a big word. And, so final. You can't be in the midst of failure, because it's final. You never know until the buzzer's buzzed. Up until then, you keep going, right? Think about the last two games of this past World Series. Game 6: back-and-forth, extra innings, tie it up and move ahead. Not until the 3rd out in the bottom of the 10th did we know who failed. (Rangers, sigh). Game 7: it was pretty apparent by, oh, I dunno, the 4th inning that the Rangers would fail. I knew it, they knew it, the announcers biding their time with useless trivia knew it. Failure loomed. But, the Rangers couldn't just say, "Hey! We're doomed to fail, so we're taking off now..." Of course not. Because the minute you stop trying, you fail. Why not extend that hope as long as possible?

All this to say...I totally failed my writing goal from last week. Like, not even close. Like, negative numbers due to some random computer glitch that probably boils down to my forgetting to, um, save. (and, yes, I've tried everything to retrieve those lost words)

So, I won't be spending this week just hanging out and relaxing with the family. I mean, I'll be hanging out, because we have plans. But relaxing? No. I'll be tapping my fingers calculating word counts, Googling for a good San Antonio-based hypnotist to help access those last words. As we travel over the river and through the woods (a.k.a. I-35 North to Austin), I'll be mentally fleshing out those last few plot points.

Here's the good news, though. Unlike my beloved Rangers, for me, failure is not an option. I simply cannot. Sure, I might fall a little short on some self-imposed inning, but that has nothing to do with the big game. The bottom of one inning leads to the top of the next, right?

I'd be totally remiss (and possibly un-American) if I didn't end this message with some acknowledgement of What I'm Thankful For. It's easy. I'm thankful for the next inning, the next game, the next season, the next at-bat. I'm grateful for a God whose mercies are new every morning. I'm thankful for tomorrow, and when it's here, I'll be thankful for today.

P.S. I'm only half-kidding about the hypnotist.

Deadline Dinner

I had to have "the talk" with my sons this week. No, not that talk--Miley Cyrus and 6th grade Health class took care of most of that. This was the one-month-to-deadline talk. It's the talk where I inform them that, for the next couple of weeks, dinner is what it is, and we're all pretty lucky to be eating anything at all. So if I say I'm making spaghetti and we end up having elbow macaroni mixed with a can of diced tomatoes, well there it is. I didn't go to the grocery store. I'm on deadline. Menus have been planned and abandoned. Lists have been written and left in the car. My head is too full of the next chapter, the dropped character, the ever-looming word count. Me? I could live on frozen waffles, Nutella, coffee and Yoplait Lemon Cream Pie Yogurt. Oh, and Diet Coke. Lots and lots of Diet Coke. The family, however, has grown accustomed to eating a quasi-balanced diet on a semi-regular basis. For now, if I can keep us from digging dinner out of a greasy bag more than twice a week, I'm feeling pretty good!

And, yes, the picture is a spaghetti taco. Don't judge me...

So. This week's challenge? A week off for Thanksgiving, so I won't be the only person in my family working! It'll be a week to prepare and freeze some dinners to get the whole Pittman family through those last few chapters. Feel free to leave me a comment with your best suggestions for make-ahead meals. We can only eat so much chilli...

By the way, for those wondering, I did reach last week's goal, resulting in a lovely body of Caress silky ribbon body wash. Nothing like a nice, candle-lit bath at midnight after a long day's writing.

"The End" is Near

Only an author would take comfort in such words. And for me, if all goes according to plan, in about six weeks I should have all the little bits of my current story all spelled out, ready for the triumphant "THE END" at, you know...the end. Yep. December 15--marked on every calendar I own with a big, red "D."

It's not going to be pretty.

Traditionally, for me, that long, long journey to "The End" takes place in a house full of pizza boxes, where children slide school papers under a closed bedroom door, and a husband wonders why his wife is taking beauty tips from Howard Hughes. OK, I exaggerate a bit. Sometimes we have hamburgers.

Right now I'm optimistic. The unwritten chapters are quite clear in my head, and as soon as I figure out exactly how the story's going to end, it should be easy-cheesy. (Speaking of cheese, I'll probably have entire meals made of those tasty orange squares!) Of course, that's what I thought a few months ago when I opened the first Word document. For me, really, ending a book is never easy. Never pretty. And sometimes, it's downright stinky. Some authors claim to have fallen so in love with their characters they hate to say "Good-bye." In my case, I'm pushing them toward the door, suitcases in hand, out to the taxi I ordered sometime last summer.

But the prize! Ah, the prize. One hundred thousand words piled high upon each other. Words that never before existed in just that pattern before. Brand-new sentences molded into dialogue spoken by newly minted people. Right now, though, I'm still Dr. Frankenstein, rummaging through the graveyard looking for those final scraps of inspiration. Finding bits and pieces every here and there, with no idea if they'll work together when I flip the switch. And, really, you can't flip the switch until you get to "The End," can you?

It's going to be a long six weeks, for me, and all who know me. I'll need tons of patience, prayer, and, quite possibly, a good shampoo.

I Have a Book Signing on Saturday

This weekend is LifeWay's Fall Fiction Event, where Christian ficion authors all over the country will be sitting just inside the doorway of LifeWay Christian stores all across the country signing their latest release. And I'll be one of them.

Before my first novel, I--like most pre-published authors--dreamt of The Book Signing. Hordes of people lined up at the table...outside the door...around the corner...down the block. Never once did I imagine huge blocks of time punctuated by strangers trying desperately not to make eye contact with me, steering their children away, suddenly needing to be somewhere else--anywhere else. Like, over there, the spinning rack of tiny, blank cards.

I've had some disastrous signings. The one with the hurricane, where the brave employess of LifeWay and I watched shopping carts go blowing by against the back-drop of an ever-blackening sky. Or the one scheduled on Texas' Tax-Free weekend, where the brave employees of Family Christian Store and I watched shoppers scurry in and out of Old Navy with passles of restless children and cranky teens. Or the one at the little store when no.bo.dy. came.

So, am I plagued with doubt, trepidation, insecurity and fear? Nope. Because, really, it's all still very, very cool. I have a fabulous, highly-anticipated, amazing book, Forsaking All Others. And I am so blessed to represent my strong, faithful team at Tyndale. There'll be a table and chair (chairs if I have a friend come hang out with me), a bottle of water or cup of coffee or both! I'll sit behind a gi-normous stack of my books--the final form of the story God gave me.

Saturday, from 11am-1pm, I'll be exactly where God has brought me.