Where is Phoebe?

Um, so, the other night I had a dream about someone reading and reviewing my first book, "Found Phoebe."  This person liked it immensely, which left me with a warm fuzzy long after the dream ended.  But when I got up, It got me thinking, whatever happened to Phoebe?  I haven't looked at her story in ages.  I've been so preoccupied with other projects, and oh, yeah, life issues, like moving and looking for jobs....

But I haven't given up on her story, not entirely.  I have a first draft of the second book nearly finished (though I haven't looked at it in several months!).  It's been so long since I invested in her story that I'm curious whether anyone else is still thinking of her.  Back when it first came out, I got a lot of questions about a sequel.  Lately I've been working so hard on my Dark Lightning books that I had to put Phoebe on the back burner, so to speak.

You guys are the readers, what do you think?  Should I keep working on Phoebe's stories?  Is there still interest in sequels?   Should I work to get "Found Phoebe" picked up by a publishing company, or try to market the version I have a bit more?

I'm open to any & all (constructive) thoughts.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jmrichards/4561008472/

I Still Write, I Swear!

Have you ever noticed how life tends to go in cycles?

A couple of years ago, right around this time, I had the privilege of releasing a story I'd written into print format. It was pretty exciting for me, to have my words and thoughts so widely available.

To everyone who bought and read "Found Phoebe," I thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you didn't, don't worry, I'm not keeping a list or anything. I was just pleasantly surprised that folks did take the time to read--and more importantly, respond. I received a lot of positive feedback from that experience.

One of the most unanimous comments--to my overwhelming surprise--was: "When is the next one coming out?"

I still don't have a very good answer for that.

Truthfully, getting "Found Phoebe" printed by Red Lead always seemed like kind of a temporary solution, until I could find a "real" publisher (who would presumably then publish other works of mine, for example, the sequels).

But these past couple years have been sort of busy--not crazily so; just enough to keep me kind of distracted from my writing. I still write. But I spent a large chunk of my writing time tweaking another story, entirely unconnected to Phoebe.

Recently, however, Phoebe's been on my mind again. I've cycled back to it. I'm a little over halfway through the second book. I think. I'll work on other things, but Phoebe is still there, lingering, her story waiting to be told.

If you're interested, I have links to first chapter excerpts for both "Faladdyr's Rescue" (Phoebe Book 2) and "The Jagged Edge of Lightning" (my other project). Let me know what you think.

Writing is slow work, but I love it. Maybe someday I'll be able to devote more time to it.

Anyway, thanks again for reading--and responding!

An Excerpt

In honor of my book being made available in print at the beginning of next month, I decided to give a little teaser taste of the story. This is about halfway through the book.


From “Found Phoebe,” Chapter Nine

In the bathroom mirror, Phoebe eyed herself warily. She had gotten ready as quickly as possible, wanting to sneak up to the attic while her cousins were still downstairs eating breakfast and watching cartoons. They had gotten up just as she had returned from her own breakfast.
She critically surveyed her outfit and hair, frowning first on one side of her mouth and then the other. She paused for a second and leaned in a little closer to the mirror to examine her ears. Not the slightest bit of pointiness; they were completely round and normal. For some reason it slightly disappointed her. She shrugged it off and continued her scrutiny of her appearance. She twisted and turned and cocked her head. Finally she sighed. It would have to do.
She wanted to look nice, even though the time was past for first impressions. She had the idea that it would be rather like the first day of school, and she wanted to go into it looking nice. She was wearing, in fact, the same outfit she had worn the first day of seventh grade. The last two times she’d been to FSHQ, Phoebe had been attired in overalls and a tee shirt. Now she was wearing a white blouse and navy cardigan, with a red, green and navy plaid, pleated skirt. She was worried she looked too “prep-school.” And she wished, not for the first time that morning, that she’d either noticed what the other fairies had been wearing, or at least thought to ask Pip what she should wear.
She tugged on her hair, once again styled into two plain braids, and bit her lip. If only she had some make-up…she didn’t dare borrow any of Lisa’s, although she knew where she kept it hidden. Oh well. She was running out of time, so she’d just have to go as she was! She carefully picked up her rolled up application and stepped into the hallway.
Phoebe tiptoed to the attic door, trying to avoid the spots that creaked. She could hear the Pack munching on cereal and arguing about which show they were going to watch. She hadn’t seen Aunt Roberta all morning, and she didn’t want to start now. She also didn’t want to run into her grandmother again. She pulled the attic door closed and exhaled. So far, so good. This time she had stowed a tiny keychain flashlight in her skirt pocket. Phoebe refused to wear anything without pockets, because she was always cramming things into them. She carried all kinds of things that she thought she might need, like wadded up tissues, half-melted lip balm, or battered, foil-wrapped pieces of gum. In a way, it reminded her of the conversation she’d had with Pip about not feeling prepared for FSHQ; she knew she couldn’t be prepared for everything, as her friend had pointed out, but she still liked to keep things that might come in handy later. She also had her two keys slung around her neck, and she was pressing them to her chest so they wouldn’t clink.
She shone the dim, miniscule beam of light around the attic until she unlocked the tiny door and then slunk through, activating the torches as she passed. She hurried down the stairs and it occurred to her, as she came around the bend and found the hallway, that each time it seemed to take less time.
She stowed her unnecessary flashlight and walked past the other fascinating doors, stopping only once to glance out the garden window. She sighed, then continued straight down the hall, pulling out the golden key. She had kept it carefully hidden, and now it gleamed in the warm torchlight.
A flutter of excitement went through Phoebe’s stomach. Up ahead, rippling into view as though it had been veiled by an invisible curtain, the gigantic ruby door appeared. She stopped in front of it, once again awed by its size and intensity. Now that she was facing it alone, she had more time to take it in. The strange, Tolkien-esque letters at the top fascinated her. She would have to remember to ask Rueben or Twitterly what they meant. She ran her fingers gently over the smooth, shimmering surface. It was warm, she realized in surprise, as though radiating some kind of power.
She drew a deep breath, her heart beginning to quicken. This was the moment. With the key in her hand, she knew she had a choice. She could go back to her attic, go downstairs, watch cartoons, and live a normal life. She could forget all about this place and pretend she just dreamed it up when she was a child. She would never have to deal with Swothley, she could make up answers to her questions, and she could convince herself of how silly it was to even imagine that she had fairy blood in her. She knew she could do those things. There was a part of her that was fearful enough to shut all this mystery and magic out.
But just as she knew all that, she knew she would never be satisfied living that way. She knew that in the back of her mind she would always wonder. There were too many adventures waiting for her, too many questions that needed to be answered truthfully. And why should someone like Swothley have the power to keep her from living her dream? There was a path she was supposed to follow, and she felt strongly that it lay beyond this door, just as she’d told Pip. There were friends waiting for her there, not only enemies. There was a chance for her to do something beyond her wildest dreams. How could she give that up? Despite her fear, despite the fact that she knew in her heart that it would not be always easy, nor always fun, she knew that she belonged there.
Just as they had on the day she’d discovered the tiny door in her attic, Phoebe’s stomach was churning and her hand was shaking as she held out the key. She’d known then that her life was about to change. And she had been right. Now she was choosing to continue that change, no matter what lay ahead. The key turned smoothly in the lock, and the door swung open almost effortlessly toward her.
And she was inside.
Thanks for reading! If you're interested in reading more, the first chapter is on my website...and the entire book will be available from redleadbooks.com NOW!

Pip and Phoebe

Okay, you know if I’m actually going to write a whole post about my cats, there must be nothing going on. And by that I mean not only activities in my life, but also nothing going on in my head.

But I simply cannot go another day without blogging. I must talk about something. I was just browsing a couple of other blogs, and I felt deeply disappointed that I didn’t have anything profound to say to day. But, oh well.

So I have these two cats, Pip and Phoebe. Well, they belong to my whole family. They are sisters, and they are beautiful. We had to buy them together, which turns out to have been a good thing.

I would like to point out that I did not name these cats—at least not directly. I wanted to name them something like “Arwen” and “Eowyn,” or perhaps after characters in Narnia, like “Jewel” and “Fledge.” My parents rejected these. But then they said, “What about the girls in your book?”—meaning, of course, “Found Phoebe,” which is soon to be available for purchasing. And I said, “Phoebe” (of course) “and her friend’s name is Lunissa, but she goes by Pip.”

Thus the cats were re-christened. (The names they came with were atrocious. Honestly.)

Some people are not “cat people.” Due to allergies, or bad experiences, or a dislike of animals in general…but I love my cats. And what’s fun is I like them for different reasons.

Phoebe is a baby. Seriously. She will periodically walk around the house meowing incessantly. She rarely sits on anyone’s lap except my mom’s, and she is very jumpy. When we first brought her home, she hid under beds and couches for the whole first week. We thought she might not make it. But eventually, she came around. And now, she is so affectionate, she purrs almost the minute you touch her.

Pip is the “older sister;” she is bigger and more maternal. She doesn’t purr as quickly as Phoebe, and she doesn’t like to be held very much. But she is affectionate, and she has this itty bitty meow she does when she wants some affection. She’ll jump up on the chair behind me while I’m sitting at the computer and beg for attention. She’s also most likely to curl up in bed with me on mornings I sleep in (or days I stay home sick).

Right this minute, my dad is playing with both of them, which they love. And my parents are arguing over who loves them more. But the truth is, it’s just so nice to have other animal life around. My cats are funny and sweet and skittish, and I’m glad they are here. Even when they run away from me. Y

Narnia Mania

I want to tell you a story.

When I was about three years old, my father started reading “The Chronicles of Narnia” to me. I am not kidding. He adapted it to my level, of course, so that my young mind could grasp the unfolding drama. The best part was that he used voices. He even used British accents. It was great. To this day I can still hear echoes when I re-read them.

I don’t remember the very first time I heard it, but I do remember becoming absolutely captivated at a very young age. At five, I was already imitating Lucy, my favorite character (besides Aslan)—I dressed up as her for (my last) Halloween that year. There was something about the stories that absolutely enchanted me.

Ever since then, I’ve been looking for a way into Narnia.

Seriously, I could write pages and pages on how much C. S. Lewis’ stories influenced me. Actually, I did write pages—in college I wrote a paper on it.

His depiction of Jesus as a Lion—wow. Brilliance. More than that, it was inspired. Aslan is both ferocious and tender, depending on the situation. He knows when to whisper and when to roar, when to use his claws and when to velvet them. There was something about this duality, this supreme wisdom that sunk deep into my psyche. Aslan’s supreme justice and supreme mercy combined to create a God that is seldom preached from our pulpits.

I was also deeply impressed by the intimate friendship Lucy and Aslan had. Lewis would often write that Lucy “understood his moods” or correctly interpreted his growls. She seemed somehow to be most in tune with him, and when she is told she is too old to come back to Narnia, she sobs that it’s Him she’ll miss, not the country. At that point in my young life I had a very similar connection to God—innocent, full of trust and love and the assurance that He cared about me.

I tell ya, Life can really take that out of you. It’s amazing to me how much that belief has been assaulted in the past decade or so of my life. That complete trust we have when we are children is attacked as we get older; it is shaken, just like our faith in everything else around us eventually is.

But no matter how old I get, I am taken back to that sense of wonder when I re-read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” In the past couple of years, I have had the privilege of reading it to children. I read it to a group of (older) students at a preschool a couple of years ago, and just a few months ago to my Chinese Church kids. Yes, I use voices and fake accents. I love seeing the kids get into the story…and I love getting myself back into it. I especially want them to know the “real” story before the movie comes out in December.

I know it will be really good, very well done, probably spectacular from all that I’ve seen of it already…but nothing will ever live up to the images I have in my head. They will change things, because that’s what movie people do to books. I could write a whole other post of my disgust on that topic. And because it’s something that means so much to me, I am trying to prepare myself now for the inevitable disappointments. (Hey, I had them with LOTR, too, and those are like my favorite movies of all time.) And I am trying to overlook the hype which now surrounds the movie and stay positive, knowing that no matter what happens with the movie, there will always be the original story.

The point is, I probably am who I am today in a large part because twenty-three years ago my dad read me a thirty year old book written by deceased English author. I would not be J. M. Richards, I would not have written “Found Phoebe,” if it weren’t for my dad, and Clive Staples Lewis. That sounds like a big thing to say. But I really believe it. The love of Narnia opened up for me a whole desire for more adventures into other lands—and for adventure in general, the longing to be part of something bigger. And the symbolism, which I was able to grasp even as a child, showed me that other stories might also carry a deeper meaning.

This is something which has come to fruition in me only in recent years; but I recognize when and where the seeds were planted (and subsequently watered in large part by John Eldredge). I look back in amazement that something so beautifully simple had such a profound effect on me.

Well, I told you I could write pages on this. I could mention the beautiful Chris Rice song, “Run the Earth and Watch the Sky” [thanks to Brianne for introducing me to that song] where he mentions Aslan and the Pevensies as part of his adolescence. I could go off on a tangent and talk about when I went to Chicago, to Wheaton, and saw (touched!!!) C.S. Lewis’ desk at a special library dedicated to him and six other British authors (including Tolkien and George MacDonald). But really this post is just a tribute; The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and How it Changed My Entire Life, by J. M. Richards. Or something like that. If I sound fanatical, even evangelistic about it…well, I don’t apologize. I can only hope that someday you, too, will experience the wonder, and find your own adventurous encounter with the untamed God. Y

Victorious Female Delighted

So…what a week!
I started a NEW job this week…which means until the end of October, I am technically working three jobs. Which might explain why I have been lax of late in blogging…*sigh*…sorry.

The new job is an office position in the Administration Office for Pregnancy Care Centers. Ironically, it is located in a wing of the church that my dad also happens to work in. So that’s cool. I am happy to announce to those of you who have been following the “Retirement Saga” that I have given my notice to my bosses at the dentist’s office, and it went well. So as of the beginning of November…I’m done.

Now…for those of you who smiled at the title of my blog…yes, I was referring to the Lemony Snicket books, A Series of Unfortunate Events. I was ecstatic to find Book the Twelfth, The Penultimate Peril, at Wal-Mart the very day it came out. I finished it the other day; it was as good and bad as usual. Good, because Mr. “Snicket” (aka Daniel Handler) has a very funny way of writing. And bad, because terrible things really do happen to the Baudelaire orphans. But at least Lemony always warns us ahead of time. The next book will be the last one, and if I do not get a few answers (specifically as to why Mr. Snicket has dedicated his life to researching the events of the Baudelaires) I will be sorely disappointed.

And for those of you who don’t know anything about the books, VFD stands for the name of a secret organization in the stories…but it also stands for just about everything else and is used as a form of code. So I was signaling other volunteers by titling my post the way I did.

Also, I finally sent off my stuff to Red Lead…I will keep you updated as I hear from them to know when production will begin on the printing of “Found Phoebe.” It may take several months before it is available to purchase (and even then it may be pricey). Hopefully everything will go smoothly, and God will use this opportunity to open other doors, and let others read my work. (You can pray about that.)

I have realized recently that this is something I very much want to do with my life—write stories that touch people’s hearts and minds and waken them up to the truth about reality—and I am growing more passionate about it daily. I know is something that is in me to do…I just can’t see exactly where it is going to take me yet.

But when could anyone see the end of his or her own story? 

...On Writing

I have to tell you, having this blog makes me feel a little bit like a journalist. I’m always trying to come up with a topic for my “article.” And it has to have a title, and it ahs to be short enough that people won’t despair of getting to the end of it while they’re scrolling down.

Of course, my audience is much smaller than any newspaper or magazine; but I still appreciate you taking the time to read my humble, rambling thoughts. I hope you also know that I LOVE getting comments about what I write, hint hint.

I always like to get feedback on my writing. For one reason, I like to feel connected to my readers, and knowing how people respond helps me to be a better writer. I can only write so much (on one of my twenty ideas) before I make someone read it—usually a member of my family, like my brother Kyle, or my good friend Brianne.

Right now, however, I have a couple of other people reading my “Found Phoebe” manuscript. I want to get all the errors caught and confusing parts clarified before it goes to press with Red Lead. I want it to be the best it can be…and I’ve already been revising it for two years. It’s always different, though, when someone else reads your work.

About a week ago, the pastor of North Park Church came by the house with my dad after lunch. Pastor Hopper mentioned to me that he had read the first chapter of my book online, and that he enjoyed it. He was very encouraging and shared with me some advice from a class he had taken on writing for publication. He told me that his teacher said not to identify too strongly with your writing. Authors who do that have a hard time with criticism because they feel like they themselves are being edited and judged. It’s called “Red Pen Syndrome” or something like that.

I had my first real experience with that (outside of school) earlier this week. A friend of my dad’s is one of the people editing “Phoebe” for me right now. Mr. Lesher sent me the first two parts of “Phoebe” edited in such a way that you can see what was changed as soon as you open the document in word. The changes are marked in red. Naturally. When I opened the document to the first page, all I saw was a mass of red.

Now, I’m not saying that his revisions weren’t helpful; they were. And I really do want my writing to be the best it can be. It’s like…if you watch a craftsman at work—A potter for example, or a glass blower or metal smith. They take a portion of their material, work it, shape it, and the next thing you know thy destroy it. It is a formless blob again and they are starting the process all over. They saw a flaw that needed to be fixed. It would be silly for one of them to let his pride in his talent keep him from making the best objects he can.

In the same way, I know that the kneading and melting processes are necessary for my work to be its best. Is it hard? Heck yeah. But it’s worth it. 

Creative, or Crazy?

Yesterday I decided to take stock of some of my store of ideas. These are thoughts that have come to me out of the blue, or have been rolling around in my head for a while, that I start to scribble down on scraps of paper. I finally organized these scraps last week into folders for different story ideas.

Yesterday, however, I went through and actually made a list of all the story ideas that are actively floating around in my head at the moment. These are things I think of through out the day and ponder how to expand on, clarify, and complete.

Would you believe my list had twenty items on it??? I was a little shocked. Now, some of them are at most a few lines I jot down to convey the ideas behind the book I intend to one day write. And some are just a few pages or paragraphs to get me started, but still!! Twenty?

As of yet, I have only completed two of those twenty, and yet they are still on my list because I am forever revising them. As for the rest…I’m having trouble prioritizing them. What should I work on today? What should I try to finish next?

Found Phoebe was the first really solid story idea I had, that I was able to see through from beginning to end. And Jagged Edge came next; it was something I had to write. That was one of the ideas that had been rolling around in my head for a while and finally I had an insight on how it could all come together. I barely worked on anything else while I wrote it, because I was so set on getting through it. (I’m now on my second draft. It is a ridiculous 243 pages—the 81/2 x 11 kind, 12 pt. font, single spaced. Whew!)

But now I am starting to wonder if I am creative, or just crazy. How on earth do all these ideas fit in my head? And how am I ever going to get around to all of them? Believe me, I want to! I love telling stories. That is something I am so passionate about. Even if it takes me the rest of my life to get out jut the ideas I have right now, I hope to do it. But I hope to be writing stories for the rest of my life anyway.

And after all, the human brain is an amazing thing. I suppose if I was made in the image of my Creator, who had the ideas for things like giraffes, kangaroos, pandas, mountains, waterfalls, sunsets, stargazer lilies, oak trees, monarch butterflies, Hawaii, Scotland, and, oh yeah, every single human being that has ever lived or ever will live in the history of the planet, then I guess my brain should be able to hold the ideas for a couple dozen books.

But I still don’t know which one I should work on today. 

(P.S.:In case you're new, I'd like you to know that I love getting comments. That way I know you've been here.)

"Christian" Fiction

I am an aspiring author. That’s what it says in my profile to the right. Basically it means that I really really like to write (hence, the blog that I pound away on for a very small audience) and that I hope one day to be published and recognized as an author. As opposed to a girl who works for a dentist and at a coffee shop and writes in her spare time.

I have actually written a book; I hope to be self-publishing it in the next couple of months. You can read a little more about it on my humble web page, listed under my links to the right. I’m not going to synopize it right here. But if “Found Phoebe” does get taken on by Red Lead Press, you can be assured that I will also add a link to where you can order it online.

A lot of people have asked me, “Is this a Christian book?” The answer is: yes and no. First of all, no, it is not an explicitly Christian book. By this I mean that Phoebe does not go to church, have a conversion experience, nor is there any mention of God. But at the same time, yes, it is a Christian book because I am a Christian, and I am the author. My worldviews are inherent in my writing, just as “The Lord of the Rings” was not an explicitly Christian book, either, yet is loved by many Christians because of the deep theological themes found there. I am not comparing myself to J.R.R. Tolkien; I am just using his work as an illustration. Although my book is not exactly an allegory, there are parallels and Christian themes in the story; furthermore, my book does not endorse any unscriptural activities.

But as a Christian Author, and even just as a Christian Philosopher in college, I have wrestled with this question: what makes something “Christian Art”? I actually took a whole class about it my senior year, thank you, Dr. Wilson.

I think as Christians, we have a tendency to separate ourselves so much from the mainstream culture that we have created our own little bubble of a sub-culture. There was a time in my life when I thought this was good, but I don’t any more. Part of the problem is that the mainstream market has become so liberal that there isn’t a lot of market for Christian religious art. To compensate, we created publishing houses and media companies that would produce Christian art. But to whom? Not to the world, who needs it the most. But to us, so that we could be surrounded only by what is good and theologically sound.

Yes, I know the verse in Philippians where Paul tells us what things we should think on. And I know we are called to be set apart, to live in the world , but not be of it, and certainly not to love the world or anything in it.

But if Christian musicians are just singing about God’s love to Christians, and Christian authors are just writing books about living life as a Christian and selling it only in Christian bookstores, how are we changing the world?

I am not ashamed that my book does not have the plan of salvation in it. I think God uses all things to draw men to him. I think he uses people who don’t even know Him to spread truth, without them even knowing it. I think His truth can be found in very unexpected places, because it is His world, and He is sovereign, and He has put truth in our hearts. I think you can find elements of the gospel everywhere: in movies like Braveheart and Star Wars, in shows like LOST and ALIAS, and in books like Susan Cooper’s “The Dark is Rising Sequence” and yes, dangit, even in the Harry Potter books.

I still haven’t finished “Heaven is Not My Home,” but I do agree with Dr. Paul Marshall that it is our responsibility as Christians to redeem the world, and to bring to light those truths we find. “Found Phoebe” is about fairies and fairy tales. Why? Because fairy tales (as John Eldredge and even C.S. Lewis would say) present a deep view of reality. They show us what is really going on. As does all effective art, Christian or not.