Ready.

This is my 100th post.  I have had things to say between my last post (in September, I believe) and this one, but they were nothing of value.  I wanted this post to be important, and so I waited.  It took awhile, but I have I have something worth sharing.

Let me start by saying Pacific Press did not accept my query.  With just one paragraph to pitch what I was writing they decided that my work would not be good for their publishing house.  Yes, I was sad, but in the end I am happy with that.  Honestly.  Awhile ago I said I did not want to publish through Pacific Press as I did not want this to just be kept in the bubble -- and if you know the bubble I speak of then you know the bubble.  It may seem like I am back at square one, but really I am not.  I have done a lot of research since then and now and I have a path I am walking down.  The destination is not yet clear, but the path is. 

The first step on that path begins tomorrow.  In my possession I have two printed copies of my reworked manuscript, ready to be handed over to two trusted friends (one a writer, the other an avid reader) who are going to look over my work.  I am excited and I am scared.  I know I will get it back all ripped up with marks here and there plus a lot of comments that I need to work through, but this is the next step I need to take if I want this to be the best it can be.  It took me a long time to get my own revisions done, but I have finished them.  I set the clock for Christmas, and on Christmas day I sat down to finish what I said I was going to do.  And I did.  So now I move on to the next part. 

This is the part where true risks are going to be taken.  I am going to open up my precious, incredibly personal work to the eyes of others.  I am going to send letters and emails to people who are quite likely to reject what I have to say.  And then I am going to somehow make this all public. 

Risks.

But without the risk there can be no reward.  Wish me luck, because there is no turning back now.  I am moving forward.

Chapters.

Chapter List/Summaries (as sent in to Pacific Press)


Chapter 1 – Heading to Ebeye and the fear that came along with that

Chapter 2 – Arriving on Kwajalein and going to Ebeye; First couple of hours, discovering my new situation

Chapter 3 – Meeting my students for the very first time; doing placement testing and discovering what a challenge was ahead of me

Chapter 4 – The first day of school for me/ new start for my students

Chapter 5 – Facing the challenge head on by teaching the students how to “do school”

Chapter 6 – Adapting to life on the island inside of the classroom as well as out

Chapter 7 – Facing lack of sleep and peace, finding solitude in God in the loud and crazy world I was living in

Chapter 8 – The beginnings of true friendship with those around me; seeing the difference between the life I was in on Ebeye compared with other Americans with fresh eyes

Chapter 9 – Dealing with a student who got completely out of control and parents who blamed me but learning the value of love in the process

Chapter 10 – Asking the major question of “How did this become my life?” while being content that it was

Chapter 11 – Conflict and strife due to language differences between myself and another individual that led to a major meltdown on both sides

Chapter 12 – Deciding as a group that we wanted to do more for those around us and coming up with ways to meet the needs around us – right outside our door

Chapter 13 – Stepping up to meet the incredible needs of my students even though I had limited (or “no”) resources to my name

Chapter 14 – Bringing a little bit of home (America) to my life via food; Hearing how a young missionary impacted the life our principal when he was a young man and discovering the power of a life dedicated to serving Christ through this testimony; dedicating my work on Ebeye to be true work for Christ

Chapter 15 – Taking my students (all 31 of them) to the dentist and sitting through excruciating teeth extractions, and not just excruciating for them…

Chapter 16 – Finding shoes for one of my students, Phillip, who never seemed to have anyone else looking out for him

Chapter 17 – Through the hunt for a TV to watch American Idol, discovering the bond of friendship with my new friends was growing stronger than my bond with friends back home

Chapter 18 – Taking a blow when I, along with the other missionaries, were informed that we were not “true missionaries” because we were teaching math and science instead of walking door to door like the Mormons. Beginning to really question what I was doing out here…

Chapter 19 – Processing what it means to be a missionary, when God shows up with the answer in the form of a soaking wet, muddy baby found outside of my classroom doorstep

Chapter 20 – Now that I knew what my role was as a missionary, I needed to find my place as a teacher on a island that fought against education, not by force, but by incredible lack of structure; facing feelings of lack of purpose

Chapter 21 – Taking a break from Ebeye on the nearby Army base of Kwajalein for Spring Break

Chapter 22 – Spring break coming to a close and struggling with the idea of going back to Ebeye with its cockroaches and other life-frustrations; wanting to go home, but discovering home was now actually Ebeye

Chapter 23 – Allowing an inconvenient situation lead to a beautiful tradition; building relationships with my students that extended beyond the classroom walls

Chapter 24 – Coming face to face with the reality that missionary work is not as glamorous as it sounds when you are reading about it… fighting tigers may sound great, but actually fighting them is a different story. The same goes for cockroaches

Chapter 25 – An honest portrayal of success and failures of me as a teacher, and the lessons I learned from them

Chapter 26 – Through dealing with Phillip and his broken family, coming face to face with the understanding that as a teacher I have the power to make a huge impact in the lives of children

Chapter 27 – Going door to door to pass out invitations and understanding for the first time that all of my difficult moments on Ebeye were so small in comparison to the everyday challenges of my students’ lives

Chapter 28 – The last day of school which, of course, turned out completely opposite than I had planned… yet was the perfect ending

Chapter 29 – Wrapping up this segment of my life, saying goodbye to the children I learned to love in a way that could never be replicated, and heading out into the future

Sent.

Aaahhhhhh.....

Did you hear it?  That was a huge sigh of relief escaping from the inner part of my being and out through my lips. 

I sent in my query letter to Pacific Press. 

Whew!

I don't really have much to say about this, because words cannot explain it.  But let me say this:  Either they accept or they don't.  Either way, at least I know which way to proceed.  I still have some revising to work on, but I am in a good place with it.  I am ready to know which direction to turn to.

But for now we start the waiting game...

Wisdom.

Substitute "damn" every time you're inclined to write "very"; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.

                                              ~ Words of wisdom from Mark Twain



Dive.

I am full of fresh ideas right now on how to make this rough draft a more polished draft.  I set out today to make that happen.  Two chapters down, many more to go.  I am diving in.  I want to get this thing DONE!  It is time, isn't it? 

Wish me luck.
(Photo courtesy of weheartit.com)

Tears.

Last weekend Paulo was busy catching waves and I was busy reading through my rough draft.  I have now read the entire thing.  There are markings on each and every page, lots of things crossed out and little editing carrots popping up here and there, adding more or rewording phrases that needed an adjustment.  At some points you will see big marks saying "SHOW NOT TELL!!!" and at other times you will find stars denoting something I really, really liked.  Three stars, that's the most any passage has, but those passages deserve it.

As I was almost finished, on the second to last page, there was a little phrase, something that was surrounded by quotation marks and seemed so small on the page, but made a lump jump into my throat.  I cannot tell if I almost cried because the emotion was brought out by my writing or if my writing merely reminded me of an emotion that was at one point all to real, but either way, it happened.  Tears were brought to my eyes. 

I read it later to Paulo (at the risk of getting car sick on the windy road away from from the beach and back towards home) and he said he could see the picture playing out in his mind and it was beautiful.  Once again, I ask is this from my writing itself or is is merely my writing is bringing to his mind all the stories he has heard a million times? 

Well, I don't know, and I won't know until others read it.  There is a lot of changing that needs to take place before that happens, questions that need to be answered, some that need to be asked so the answer makes sense... but in the end, I can honestly say that I have something very solid to build upon.  Soon I will be finished, soon this will be in the hands of others.  Will they have a tear threaten to fall as well when Jenny cups her little hands around mine and asks about the sea glass?  I hope so.

 (Watercolor world found at weheartit.com, words added by me)

Dynamic.

After my last blog post, about how I was scared to move forward, my husband talked me through it.  What a blessing to be married to someone who listens to you, let's you say what you need to say, and then calmly tells you that you can do what it is you need to do even if you don't feel like it!  And further more, helps you come up with a plan to make that happen.  See, I knew he was a keeper! ;)

So, now instead of avoiding that red folder stacked full of paper -- my manuscript -- I have been attacking it, one day a time.  Specifically, 15 pages at a time. 

Wanna know what I found out?

I am a darn good writer.  While reading through (and remind yourself that I wrote most of this over half a year ago... and never have I seen the thing as whole, just bits and pieces) I would look up to Paulo and say, "Wow, Babe, this is really good!"  or, "The idea here is great, just needs a little fine-tuning," as I would scribble down my notes in the margins.  There are definite areas of weakness, but mostly, there is strength.  The foundation for this book is strong, and it can only get better from here. 

The best comment I made, however, was this one: "Tiffany is a dynamic character."  Yes, I was talking about myself in the third person because I was reading about myself.  But what I said is true.  She (being me) is not static, she struggles and grow and changes over time.  You know, I am excited to see where this journey takes her... I guess I better finish the book.

(Photo courtesy of weheartit.com)

Published.

No, no.  Not my book.  That is going to be published, yet.  (But it will be!)

Today my excitement comes over my other project I have been working on -- my food blog.

I started it a few months back as a way to record recipes and adventures (as well as misadventures!) in the kitchen.  It kind of became a conglomoration of stories of trial and error, cooking lessons, and a record of a dual-cultural marriage through the lens of food.  It has been growing, now over 2,000 page views, which is way more than this blog will ever have -- and I like it that way.  (This one is way more personal.)  When I hit 32 I lost count of how many different countries were represented by my occasional readers, with a lot of hits coming from the American expat community living in Brazil.  I guess American-Brazilian marriages seek out others in the same situation, no matter the country they live in!  All in all, it has been fun, challenged me as a writer (food blogs can do that, you shouldn't be surprised), and has connected me to a whole new world of people -- people trying to make food at home, whether they are successful or not.

Today is a big day for my little food blog with 18 followers (plus 28 of Facebook).  I just sent back the appropriate papers for my blog to be a Featured Publisher blog with Foodbuzz.com.  This means that they liked me enough to want to put their stamp of approval (and links to their website) on my blog and I will be promoted through their advertising department.  Nothing huge, but still... it is a sign that somewhere, someone thinks my writing is worth reading.  And you know what?  That feels good. :)


(See the picture on the top?  I found it through a Google search and it made me remember about Wordles.  If you have not made a Wordle before, do it!  You just go to wordle.net and copy and paste the text you want in it or RSS your blog/whatever to it.  It gives a visual representation of your words -- the more frequent the word usage, the larger the word.  Gave it a try with my food blog, and this is what I got.  I guess I really like chicken, hahaha!)

Resistance.

I have done absolutely nothing on my manuscript for over a month.

This is a sad confession to make.

I would like to say it is because I have been too busy, and in actuality, I have been.  But if I am honest, that is not the real reason.  It is one of the many reasons.  The tiniest of those reasons, but one of them.

The other reasons look like this:
Revising is boring.  It is true.  The high of creating, of pulling something out of somewhere deep inside you and filling a page with it, that is beautiful and exciting and fun.  Rewriting is nothing like that.  It is analyzing, judging, contemplating, and then starting again.  I want to be creative.  This would be why my other blog is getting so much attention and why pictures are being edited.  Why I am baking when I hate baking.  I like to create much better than perfect something that has already been created.

But the real reason, honestly?  I am scared.  I am afraid that once I am done with this step I have to open myself up via my manuscript to others so that they can give feedback so I can (once again) rewrite and make it better.  I feel so vulnerable.  It is one thing for somebody to read a blog post that took 20 minutes to work on... if they like it, GREAT!  If not, whatever.  But to open myself up to people, and eventually many people, on something first of all took as-of-now over a year to work on and (more importantly) such a sacred experience in my life... that is intimidating. 

I cannot stop now.  I want to do this, and truthfully, I need to do this.  I need to get this out there.  So that means I need to start working on this.  Time to stop letting boredom, business, and fear dictate how this project is going to turn out.  It is time to take it back into my hands, finish what I started, and let those who want to read it, read it. 

Truth be told, I hope that is a lot of people ;)

(Picture from weheartit.com)

Write your first draft with your heart.

Re-write with your head.

~From Finding Forrester

(Photo courtesy of weheartit.com)

Beginning (Again).

(*The drink was purchased with a gift card --  yes I am being true to my 30 Day Challenge!)

Affirmation (Part 2)

Today's affirmation is not as powerful or life-changing as what I received yesterday.  It has nothing to do with the missionary work I did or the power of God to work through us to change lives.  Rather, it was a simple comment out of the mouth of a student that just made me feel, well, good. 

I told my students that I had finished my rough draft (because although I am really selective as to which grown-ups get to be "in" on this info, I am surprisingly open when sharing with my students... I guess I trust they will think I am a rock star no matter how awful my writing turns out to be, because comparatively... well...).  "Please, Mrs. dos Santos, can you read it to us?" they begged.  Of course I couldn't do that, it is just the rough draft, first of all, but more, this is a story that I am not so sure 9 year-olds will really enjoy.  But I caved in and read the first page.  And hence came my affirmation.

"Wow, it sounds like a REAL BOOK!"

Excellent!  This may have come from someone who has read nothing more advanced than Judy Moody, but I will trust their judgement.  It sounds like a real book. 

Children are the best ego-boosters to have around.

Except when you have a pimple on your chin.  In moments like that you should just stay far away from them and their brutal honesty.

Affirmation. (A must read)

A former Sabbath School student of mine in Palau wrote this today and shared with us former teachers of his.  Although I was not his school teacher, I did get to form a friendship with him, and this touched my heart in a way that I cannot describe.  It seems like after years of knowing internally that God used our efforts, someone confirmed that.  Just what I needed to hear.

(PS - Just printed up the whole rough draft.  Going to start revising this weekend.  It is high time, don't you think???)

FROM SETH -

Student Missionaries of Palau
Romans 1 8-12
8 First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all, that your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world. 9 For God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit in the gospel of His Son, that without ceasing I make mention of you always in my prayers, 10 making request if, by some means, now at last I may find a way in the will of God to come to you. 11 For I long to see you, that I may impart to you some spiritual gift, so that you may be established— 12 that is, that I may be encouraged together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me.

To be a student missionary is more than just teaching kids from different countries. It is much more than an adventure in a foreign country. Its a commitment you make to God's work. A commitment you make to your spiritual walk. It is devoting yourself to a cause you believe in. It is an opportunity, not only to provide kids with a good education but also an opportunity to introduce them to life that proves to be meaningful, a life with God, a chance to know God. When we first hear the words "Student Missionary" we think of people who are hear to be our teachers and to work for our school or for our church. Student missionaries work for God. You are not STUDENT missionaries, you are student MISSIONARIES. You are a missionary, an evangelist, God's disciple. You are the people who introduced me personally to God and i thank you for that. I thank you for the sacrifices you make for us. It's hard to leave family and friends and to take a year off of school to travel across the world. Thank you for the time you've taken out of your lives, thank you for the hard work you have done to educate us, and thank you so much for introducing us to God. I wouldn't have known God today, if you hadn't come to palau and if i hadn't seen God's character in all of you. You guys saved my life and have saved many others lives. Every group of SM's changes someone's life every year and every new group to come will greatly affect the students lives in an incredible way. We, the students, won't always realize it, and you may never know it, but God will. and God will remember the good work you've done. I was a student of SDA and a student of PMA. I wasn't born a christian, i was raised a christian, not just by my family, but by the teachers i spent everyday with. 12 years. Thats how long it took for me to find God. It took a while, but it happened and i thank the Lord for you guys. You're saving lives, and winning souls for God, whether you know it or not. Thank you. I love you guys. Don't stop doing God's work, because you are getting results and thats what we need.

Matthew 28:19: ¶Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost

Realization.

I am an author.

Whether or not I am a good author is beside the point.  I have successfully written a book.  Sure, it may be just the rough draft, but still.  Those 56,047 words?  They are mine.  And that is an amazing feeling. 

The moment I finished I sat down and took a deep breath.  I then picked up the phone and made my first phone call.  It came out factually, yet the moment the words escaped me and I heard what I said, I started to cry. 

The same thing happened to me five years in the Palau International Airport.  My buddies from the Camp Micronesia project had just gotten on the plane to leave and I walked out of the departure gate, let out a long breath, and sat on the floor and cried.  That had been months in the making and then a two month full time experience.  This project, my book, has also been months in the making.  Nine months so far.  I have come to realize that these tears are the best way my body can express what it needs to so desperately express: relief, pride, exhaustion... all three rolled into one. 

The tears didn't last for long, however, because I was too exhausted to cry anymore.  The final day, I had sat there for five hours writing.  That is enough to pretty much take you out.  And it did.  But the next day, when I was bright eyed and awake again, it hit me again.  One step down, the longest lasting step hopefully, and I am one my way.  Now onto revising and rewriting and editing and all that.  First, however, I am giving myself a week off.  I think I deserve it! :)

Victory.

56,047 Words.
112 Pages.
29 Chapters.
9 Months of writing..
1 Complete rough draft.

I am done. 

You have know idea how sweet the taste of victory is right now.  No idea.

I think I am going to go crash now.

Tomorrow.

The end starts tomorrow.  I am going to sit down and pump it out.  It will be done by Saturday night.  Watch and see.

Feeling.

I can feel it in my fingers, in my toes, everywhere.  I am almost there.  I just sat for a half an hour, the only time I had available today, time that would have otherwise gone to TV or reading or whatever, but it went to this.  594 words closer to the end. 

I feel good, yeah!  Oh I feel so good, yeah! Oh I feel so, Oh I feel so, Oh I feel so good, yeah, yeah, yeah!!!

Time.

Yesterday I had a lot of time.  A lot.  And I thought I would get a lot accomplished with this time.  A lot.  But I did not. 

Instead, I chased after flat-leafed kale until I found out that the constant rain has ruined it for the time being and had to just settle for curly kale, which I had found at the first store as well as the fifth store... 

Instead, I spun around and around in circles trying to cross anything off my list of things I needed to accomplish (dishes, laundry, etc.) because I had been too busy to do any of that the week before yet didn't actually accomplish anything...

Instead, I spent 2 hours at an appointment that should have lasted about 45 min...

Needless to say, I did not get the time I thought I would have.  I did not accomplish what I had hoped I would.  I wish I had the power to stop time.  Everybody does, I guess, but that would be so convenient in my life.  But then, maybe I don't.  I didn't get done what I thought I would get done, but really, do I want a day longer than 24 hours long?  I would probably just fill it with more stuff to do.

What I need is not the ability to slow time down, but to treat each moment as a precious gift and use it wisely.  Some days that is easier than others, because sometimes life gets in the way.  Oh well, life happens, time gets wasted, and in the end I am really no worse off than I was before.  Just maybe a little behind schedule.

Overwhelmed.

It is really coming to an end.  I know it is just the rough draft, but WOW, this is just a huge feeling.  I spent about two hours straight writing today with no break.  My fingers hurt and my brain hurts and I have no more inside of me to give to the page right now, but it is wrapping up. 

I cannot believe it.

I mean, I know I still have all this other stuff to do.  Revision, rewriting, editing, and then doing what I can to get it published.  But this part, which really is the juicy part, is almost done.  What am I going to do with myself afterwards??? 

Well, first I will celebrate.  And then I guess I will start revising.  But then, what will I do then?

___________________________________________________________________________

Same day, just later time.  (5:04)

I cannot breathe.

I am so close to being finished.  From what I can tell, just two chapters to go. All I have done today is write, write, write.  And that's all I want to keep doing.  But I can't.  I have a headache, my eyes are sore from looking at the computer, and I need to get out there and relax because I have a six-day work week ahead of me, starting early tomorrow morning.   

But there is nothing more I want to do right now that THIS.  I am ready for this.  I have been waiting a long time.  It is just around the corner...

Writing became such a process of discovery that I couldn't wait to get to work in the morning: I wanted to know what I was going to say. ~Sharon O'Brien


(Photo courtesy of weheartit.com)

Inspiration.

Then I guess I better get to work...

(Photo courtesy weheartit.com)

Nolynn.

Found this waiting for me in my Facebook Inbox today.

People wonder how I could live in Ebeye and like it, and why I still have a place in my heart for it today.  THIS is why. 

My heart is so full right now.

Direction.

As I was laying down on the floor just now, talking to my husband, something popped out of my mouth.

"I think I am just a few chapters away from being done."

The moment the words were uttered I realized that, yes, they were true.  I don't know how to explain it.  It isn't that my outline matches up with that.  I have detoured from my many outlines all the time, but each detour takes me in a new direction, better than the ones before.  It isn't that I am out of stories.  One can never run out of stories from a time abroad.  It is an impossibility.  There is no better way to explain it than this: I just feel it.  I feel the end of my story winding down.  I have reached the climax (which was not where I expected it to be) and have battled and won against the problem (which was not what I thought the overall struggle was).  I am now descending down the other side of the plot line, finding that although I thought I knew the exact direction my book was going, I did not.  Or rather, I did, I just didn't know it outright.  It was hidden down there, buried inside of me, waiting for me to dig it out. 

Now that I have (once again) made a revised outline, I look at my little notes jotted in this notebook filled with scribbles and ideas, some scratched out while others are underlined, repeatedly, and I feel triumph.  Not just triumph, hope.  The end is in sight.  For so long it was out there, like Shrek, in The Land of Far, Far Away.  Just an idea, nothing real.  But now I can see it, written in black ink, in my own handwriting.  It is real.  And I will reach it.  It is only a matter of weeks now.  Being this close makes me just want to sit and write.  I want to do it now!  However, life still keeps going and I have other things I must spend my time on, like heading to gym, which Paulo is waiting ever-so-patiently for me to do right now.  So, I guess I better get going, I can write later.  Just like in the beginning, I am so eager to do that.

I am almost there!

(Photo courtesy of weheartit.com)

Home.

Another Look.

The previous videos gave you a fact-based look at Ebeye. But it didn't capture the spirit. And since the spirit of a place is what it is really all about, what you take with you when you leave, I share this with you. Watch it. It is pure fun.

Growth.

My rough draft continues to grow. Although I originally had hoped that I would be finished with this part of it by Spring Break, I clearly am not. It is amazing how on days I have time to dedicate to this I can bust out a chapter or at least a good portion of one per day. And then when I am in my normal routine of LIFE, I can bust out one per month... Oh well. I am moving forward as I can, and I am proud to say that I have completed 75% of planned chapters! Yes, 75%. That is a big percentage. BIG. The end of this phase is almost complete, and I am quite proud of myself.

This whole process has made me realize something.  When I lived in Palau, and when I left Palau, I grew.  I saw and I felt it and I knew it.  I actually remember sitting down one day at some point in the middle of it all and writing down the ten most important things that I had come to an new understanding or realization of during my six months there.  No doubt about it, Palau was a growing experience for me.

Then there is Ebeye.  I lived in Ebeye, was challenged by the situation there more or less, but you know, I could not place my finger on anything that I had learned or in any way that I had grown.  I knew it impacted me deeply, I knew it was a sacred experience in my life, but I did not feel as if I had grown.  Well, except as a teacher.  But as Tiffany?  No, I saw Ebeye as this amazing experience, life-impacting experience.  But growing experience?  Nope, not so much.  It has been through this writing process that I have come to realize a few things:

1. I grew in Ebeye.  It just didn't look like the way others grew.  The lessons Lisa and Zack were learning were different than my lessons because we were in a different place in life. 
2. My growth was not as tangible as it was in Palau, but it was just as real.  I may not be able to sit down and write the top ten things I learned, but I feel them moving about inside of me. 
3. This growth actually might have been deeper, farther in the depths of my soul.  In Palau I learned SO MUCH about life around me and how I fit in it, so much about my own cultural biases and those of others and how we all weave them together to make this thing called Planet Earth go around.  But in Ebeye, I struggled with myself.  I challenged myself.  I grew myself.  I just didn't realize it.

I still cannot tell you the things that I learned there, because they don't fit into words.  Maybe this was why I was pretty much silent (who, ME?!) when I first came back.  Why Caiti and Audrey and Querubia had to pry it out of me and it always came out accompanied by tears.  The struggle was real, and so was the growth.

I am so glad that I have finally come to realize this. 



Ebeye Mini Documentary

Sunshine.

Finally, after a week of rain, the sun is shining down. I sit in the 2nd bedroom, surrounded by bikes and golf clubs and everything else we do not have a garage for, and enjoy the sunshine streaming in through the window as I type away. The light makes my computer screen reflect the image of my fingers as they dance, bringing words to a blank page. I have been given new energy.

(Photo from weheartit.com)

Epic Battle.

For the past hour and a half, I have been pumping out word after word. It has not been slow and steady, thought out and carefully written. No, I sat down, I opened my document, and I began to pound those keys.

I have just finished a chapter (number 18, by the way) that I cannot call "a chapter" but "THE CHAPTER". For all of the plots lines that are present in this story -- and being a memoir there are several subtle ones there -- this is the conflict of all conflicts of the struggle: what does is mean to be a missionary?

It is so incredibly different writing this part. Instead of just sharing what happened, what was going on, experiences I had -- which all are very important parts of the story -- I am at the meat of the matter. I am writing the message that this book has the purpose of sharing. Because, truth be told, funny stories and cute anecdotes do not make a plot. They are part of it, but the conflict, the struggle, the growth, and eventually the climax and resolution, that is what makes a story a story.

Sad to say, I was not the winner of this battle. Kind of like Superman here. Instead, this chapter did not end with a humorous tidbit or a thought provoking idea I wanted to share. No, this chapter ended with me feeling deflated, completely and utterly deflated.

But we know how it works out for Superman in the end. He is triumphant. And I know how this will work out for me in the end. I will have the answers I am looking for. But I also know that Superman has to go through a lot to get there, just as Tiffany will need to go through a lot to finish strong.

As they say, "We may have lost the battle, but we can still win the war."

Chic.

Being on Spring Break gives me options. I can wake up whenever I want, do whatever I want, go wherever I want. However, I know myself, and thus I realize that a day of nothing will lead to boredom, which will lead to lethargy, which enevitably will lead to me being a bum, sitting on the couch in sweats with a bowl of Cheetos on my lap, watching show after show of H&G TV, thinking, "Ah, yes, this is project I want to do!" while life slowly ticks by and this project goes by the wayside along with my happiness.

No. That is not what I want.

So instead, I wake up with my alarm at 7:30, roll out of bed convincing myself it is better this way, and get on with my day. Shower, eat, check email, FB, and the news. Go and get dressed. Nice jeans, cute top, a little mascara and some lipgloss, and of course, some earrings.

Like I said, I have nowhere to go, nothing to do.

So, why then, when I could be a bum in my jammies or even a pair of jeans with a t-shirt, would I go throught the "hassle" of getting dressed up? I mean, nobody is even going to see me, right?

Yes, and no. Nobody else is going to see me, but I am going to see me. Periodically throughout the day I will catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I will see either a bum or a beauty staring back.

It's like my high school dean, Ruth (my pseudo-older sister), taught me ten years ago as we were out shopping together one day. Since she was a single lady, and one whom I was assuming was not having secret rendevous with some hot man at night, I was surprised when she bought lacy bra after lacy bra, and sexy underwear to boot. Puzzled, I asked her why she would spend this extra money for something that nobody else would see or know. I mean, really, what is wrong with Fruit of the Loom? Her answer, although it has taken some time for it to sink in, has become a motto for me. "But I will know. When I have a rough day, I will tell myself, 'Ruth, it's ok, you are hot underneath this all.'" Although I didn't change my ways right away (as most of you know, I was the queen of jeans and t-shirts for most of my life), life has given me time to see that, yes, I too want to be beautiful, if for no one else except me, because whether it is a cute top that no one else will see or sweet shoes I am rocking, I will see and I will know. That is what matters. I call it the Brazilian-Mantra. While I used to understand it as vanity, I now understand it to be an idea of, "When we have no control over all the terrible things surrounding us in the world, let's take control of the things we do have the power to change. When there is so little to feel positive about in the news, let's give ourselves something to feel good about."

So now, I figure it like this --> Instead of that ratty t-shirt, pull out the sweater. Pass the flip flops and go for flats instead. Or grab that t-shirt and clip my hair back in a cute ponytail and throw on some earrings with it. The extra five minutes I spend getting ready will be more than made up for with my productivity during the day. After all, I didn't get all dolled up to sit around and be a bum. Time to get out there and do something -- or in my case, time get my write on!

Just do it.

Today I have done a lot of things -- more laundry, scrubbed the bathroom from top to bottom, cleaned out underneath the bathroom sink, washed all the dishes, vacuumed, and the list goes on. I have not done any writing. There always seems to be something "more important" or at least more entertaining. Like needing to clear brush under the equatorial sun...

(Photo courtesy of pasci.it)

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Update: 2:06p

Just finished chapter 17 (Yes, the American Idol chapter).
Word count so far: 33,672
Estimated number of book pages: 134

Crazy. But crazy cool.

Who Cares?

I just sat for an hour and wrote 925 words on nothing. Nothing. Well, not NOTHING, but about watching American Idol, so pretty much nothing.

Ok, ok. About watching American Idol, AKA a show that brought me a sense of "home".

About running back in forth, house to house, trying to cheat and beat the system of half the island having power at a time and the very inconvenient times they switch it (like in the middle of a show!).

About the bond of friendship in another world.

I gave away the fact that, yes, I watch TV. And, shhh, don't tell anyone, I used the words "freaking" as in "because I freaking didn't want to!!!" and "darn", when I know full well that the majority of my audience is conservative Christians.

And then I ask, "Who cares? Who really cares about me watching American Idol?" Surely not that many people.

But I care. And my story cares. All of these books out there, these amazing missionary stories of people battling the elements and the underworld, maybe they aren't going to waste time telling about American Idol, because honestly, those missionaries probably didn't waste their time watching it to begin with. But my story is not that. I was no less of an amazing missionary because I did these things. I may not have translated the Bible into a previously unknown tongue or baptized dozens, but to at least someone, I did something big. Maybe it was listening as a child poured out their heart or finding shoes for another who needed them, or simply putting on a band-aid. But I did these things, they came from my heart, and I was the hands of Jesus at that time. And then I went home and watched American Idol.

As for the usage of those words. I catch myself thinking, "I can't put these in here! What self respecting Christian publishing house would tolerate those pseudo-bad words in a book?!" But then I quickly say, "Who cares?" I am not writing this book for them. I am writing it for me and for you. Although these words may not be in the vernacular of the super missionaries, Heaven knows they are in yours and mine.

Linger.

I went to the doctor yesterday because, well, I had something wrong with my feet. It started as small bumps on the bottom of my feet while I was in Ebeye. These small bumps remained there until recently when they started getting bigger. I thought, "Yuck. I have warts on my feet." But these bumps didn't hurt, so I did nothing. Eventually though, as they kept staying there I decided it was high time to do something.

It wasn't what I thought it was. The doctor barely glanced at it and said, ever-so-nonchalantly, "You have a bacterial infection that has been left untreated. You can get these from either wearing dirty socks (Um? ICK!) or being in a very humid place (Ok, Doc, that sounds more likely). Here you go." And she whipped a prescription off of her pad, handed it to me, and walked out the door.

Apparently Ebeye not only lingers in my heart and mind, but on my feet as well.

Did List.

Instead of listing my To Do List, I am going to give you my Did List. I like it better than way. More accomplishment, less of a sense of being overwhelmed.

Today I:

1. Organized my linen closet and started a huge Goodwill pile
2. Made a successful planning trip to both Ikea and Michael's (no purchases, just research)
3. Cleaned the kitchen
4. Washed two loads of laundry (I guess I can only count one at this moment, but in a few minutes the other will be finished, as well)
5. Went to the doctor
6. Ate delicious left over soup AKA didn't have to cook anything new OR get food elsewhere
7. Finished chapter 16 (woot-woot!)

See? When I put it that way I sound amazing!

(Photo curtesy of weheartit.com)

Read.

I have been doing a lot of reading lately. Not books so much (except my latest great find, which, by the way, is fabulous. Go do yourself a favor and buy it or check it out or sit on the floor of the few remaining Borders and read it!!!) but also blogs and articles and just stuff.

In my quest to be the best at this writing thing that I can be, I have searched out sources. I have started following a few blogs of writers (which tend to be not that great) and agents (which, overall, are fabulous). And in this quest I have learned a lot. For example:

• Only 20% of books published actually turn a profit.
• That means 80% of books out there are depending on the other 20%. Sounds like life.
• Right now most agents (the people who peddle books to publishers) are not accepting manuscripts from new authors.
• As one agent said, "In the words of American Idol, 'The talent tonight is rediculous.' But we know only one person will be chosen in the end." Which, goes to show, that just because you book is not chosen does not mean the talent is not there, but rather the space for it.
• All in all --> to get a book published is pretty much an impossibility. Not 100% of an impossibility, but more like 99.99999%.

That's OK, though. Because I have learned some other things, such as:

• There are completely respectable self-publishing options out there.
• The book The Shack was originally self-published because everybody rejected it.
• All in all --> Whatever happens, happens. The end. I do not need nor expect this to be a blockbuster. I do expect that it will be published either by Pacific Press or another publishing house or by me. Any way that goes down, I am OK with that.

But, once again, I am looking at the end when I am still smack dab in the middle. I need to focus on my writing. But before I do, let me share some other things I have discovered in my reading.

I am following a blog called "Rachel's Rantings in Rio", which as you might have guessed is a woman (American, married to a Brazilian) in Rio, ranting. Well, not always ranting, but sharing thoughts mostly. It is like an online, ever developing ethnography. She is witty, crass, sweet, brutally honest, and overall happy. I love it. One day she might be writing about the different views of Brazilian waxes (and the crassness comes out) and the next she is talking about being a stay-at-home mom with her little Brazilian boys who only want rice and beans while she really wants to enjoy a PB&J with them. I have something to laugh about everyday, and I learn more and more about my husband's culture through the eyes of someone who has been immersed in it deeper and for a longer period of time than I have been.

Ah... I must get back to writing what I am supposed to be writing, although I do find this a little more entertaining. In the words of the author of The Sex Lives of Cannibals, "Like many writers, I believed that clearing brush under the equatorial sun was preferable to actually writing..." Oh, J. Maarten Troost, how you know me so well.

(Photo courtesy of weheartit.com)

Timing.

While cooking dinner tonight I was thinking about my projects I want to work on during Spring Break. I have three: clean out all of my closets/cupboards, follow one of Rachael Ray's weekly planner to try seven new recipes in one week, and of course... WORK ON MY BOOK! (That is in all caps because, well, it needs to be.) I was really excited about the first two. I mean, my closets really need it. And new recipes? What's not to love? (I already did all the shopping, FYI. Fridge is stocked and I am super ready to go. YES!) But the last one? Eh. Not so much excitement. I mean, there have been moments of excitement creeping in. A thought here and an idea there. But mostly it is like saying, "I need to take a shower everyday." Yes, I will do it. Yes, I will probably enjoy it. Definitely I will feel better after it happens. But do I really care to do it? Do I look forward to it? Hmmm...

So, I prayed. "God, please, give me something to make me inspired about this."

Before I even said my Amen, Pandora threw The Song on the player. The one I wrote about half of a year ago. The one that inspired me in my time leading up to Ebeye. The one that everytime it comes on, tonight included, Paulo says, "Hey Babe, it's your song..." For several months this was my inspiration to go to Ebeye and then to be in Ebeye. Tonight, it was my inspiration to continue on that journey, this time through pen and paper.

Talk about perfect timing.

The Sex Lives of Cannibals

Being that Spring Break has arrived and I have two glorious weeks to relax, I mean, um... write, I have picked my free reading book to be a travelogue, since that is basically the category I am writing in. Picked this up yesterday:


So far, after one page and maybe almost a half, I am sure it is going to be a winner. First of all, I was trying to keep my laughter in as it begged to spill out while I was sitting on the floor in Borders (which I, like so many Americans, use as a library... sorry about that, Borders. I am sad you are bankrupt now and I want to say thanks for all the times you allowed me to read for free!). Secondly, it is about Kiribati, which is what I call "the lost island nation of Micronesia" because it is (A) in Micronesia but (B) nobody knows about it, except me because I study the map of this region religiously, and then of course, this guy. And admit it, the title does grab you, does it not?

PS - Click on the book to go the Amazon page for it. Thought I would make finding it easy for you.

This.

I am trying to do this

but I keep checking the news about this

while I am greatly pondering and looking forward to this

as I am trying to forget my feeling of this

when I should really just be immersed in this


PERIOD (.)

Thanks!

I must share my gratitude to many people who have supported me in this project so far and I hope will continue to do so. Thank you to --

Every single one of you who reads my blog, whether listed as followers or not. Alex, Heidi, Caiti, Bonnie, Christy, and lately Ruthie, as well as Shana, Vanessa, and whoever else stops by to check on my progress, I so appreciate it!

Caiti - for being one of my biggest supporters through prayer, encouragement, and all out believing in me.

Vanessa - for going to the library to print up my blog so you can read when you have free time, and then for giving me your reflections and ideas from it.

Dan - you were the one to really insist I do this and have been one of my biggest "believers" in me ever since. I feel truly supported.

Vanessa & Lisa - always asking me to send the last thing I wrote while patiently waiting for me to (never) send it ;)

Paulo - though you will probably never read these words, I want to publicly thank you. Without you pushing me day after day, week after week, I wouldn't not have gotten this far and I hope you continue to push me forward until it is all said and done.

Thank you all! Having someone cheer you on is the only way to make something as big as this possible!!!

Correlation.

I just finished writing about going to the dentist. I had been looking forward to writing this chapter because there a complete story there -- an area of exposition, rising action, a climax, and final resolution. I miss that. Sometimes I struggle with this whole writing-a-book thing because the plot line is so stretched out it gets hard for me to see where I am at on it. But this chapter, oh, this one has a plot. And I just couldn't wait to get it written down.

And then, when it comes time to write it, I stall out. No gas. Nada, zilch, nothing.

Why? Why does that happen?!

Well, tonight I figured out why, at least for this particular chapter.

I have discovered that the mode I am in with writing, the emotion I put into it, the feelings I feel as I do it, ALL OF THIS, directly correlates with the emotions I am writing about. Which is why, for instance, when I wrote the story about my cars I typed away quickly, excitedly, with a huge smile on my face and tears in my eyes. I was writing about joy, so I was experiencing joy. Or when I was writing earlier in this project about bumming around on a lazy Saturday afternoon I wrote slowly and calmly, as if I had no care in the world.

This chapter, being about going to the dentist with 31 children, fighting them as they needed to have teeth extracted, dealing with parents who could care less that their child was in need of them to comfort them in a time of pain and anxiety, well... this chapter was about a day of incredibly high stress. As I sat there, typing the words that recounted these events, that stress came back. My speed increased and so did my errors. My heart rate jumped up as well. Those feelings that were long forgotten with this tale -- because we all know when I tell the story out loud it is one of humor and bravery -- returned along the words on the page.

But I finished it. Finally. And now I am off to enjoy a hot shower to de-stress.

Go.

Working on this project has been a blessing, a struggle, an all consuming endeavor. It has opened my eyes to the fact that, yes, despite what I thought, I grew a lot while in Ebeye. (Maybe it just wasn't as obvious as in Palau.) Some days I sit here writing and think, Gee, I am so happy in my life today. I am so grateful to have a job that reaches people while I have the comforts of home. But other days I read the words on the computer screen in front of me and I think, When can this be my reality again? Or even more, Will this ever get to be my reality again? And sometimes, to be honest, I question, Do I want this to be my reality again?

I want to GO. I don't know where, could be Brazil or Latvia or San Jose, CA. But I want to go where God gives me the opportunity. I don't want to let my deep appreciation for creature-comforts or fear of the unknown prevent me from having the life He has put the desire in me to have. I also don't want the opposite to be true -- to feel that I need to "out there" to be where I can struggle, stretch, thrive and grow. Let me repeat, I want to go where God gives me the opportunity. Today, He says, "Right here, Tiffany." And so, right here it will be. I will cherish this place and this time.

But a piece of me hopes that someday He says, "Pack up your stuff and get ready to buy some plane tickets, because I have other plans for you..."

Belong.

(photo curtesy weheartit.com)

Writing is my time machine, takes me to the precise time and
place I belong. ~Jeb Dickerson

Inspiration: Valuum, a Bloody Tooth, and a Mommy Tattoo on My Forehead

"I was talking to one of my friends online a couple of weeks ago, saying how all these little kids are always holding onto my hands or my skirt, and as I was saying that a random little guy crawled into my lap and just stared at me. And my friend and I agreed, I must have MOMMY tattooed on my forehead. No joke, these little kids run to me like I am a lolly pop or something. But I feel like Mommy even more to my students. When you are in the islands (and I am sure with many other places) you are not just the teacher. You are the one to fix ripped clothes or sew on buttons or whatever. But let me tell you, teaching Ebeye makes me even more of a mom to my kids than other places would. Things that parents would do in other places, well, the responsibility falls on me. Like going to the dentist...

I have spent the last two days taking 31 kids to see the mission dentists that came here. Any of you who are parents, you think you have gone through your share of calming down kids in your time, but I think I have you beat. I had 31 checkups yesterday, 24 of which needed either fillings or extractions, about half of which I needed to be present to hold hands and hold heads in place as kids struggled to get free of the impending doom upon them. After 3 hours at the dentist yesterday, I got the list of kids who needed to come back today, and well, let's just say I have spent the greater part of my day keeping my kids calm and holding crying kids, getting prescriptions for Valuum (yes...), and I had a bloody tooth fly at my face... Watching the kids you love scream and fight, but having to hold them down, oh, I don't like it very much. But knowing that I can be there to hold their hands when they are in pain, and that they want ME to hold their hands, well, I can't say no to that. It is hard, but it is a job I am willing to take on :)"

Written exactly four years ago from today. Sometimes I can't help but stop and think about how incredibly different life can be for the same person, on the same calendar day, if you just add a few years in between. At times I am grateful for the fact that I am sitting on a cushy couch with a laptop on my lap, but other times, I find myself missing the challenges of life there, bloody teeth and all.

Rain.

A few months ago my friend Melanee asked me to do a rainy day photoshoot with her. We waited until the perfect rainy weekend and then made plans.


But we woke up to sunshine! Where did all the rain go?



Oh well, we had fun taking pictures anyway. It was already scheduled in, so why not? :)






This is definitely the top of the top for me. All of these pictures --> A+ !!!

Halfway.

I just completed my 14th chapter, out of 28 I have outlined. That means I am halfway there.

Oh yeah!!!

Original.

Here, for your reading pleasure, is the original story I submitted to Guideposts. It is a tad bit different, but the message is the same. (I did not actually write it to be published, I wrote it originally to be shared with my family and closest friends, so you will see the format/voice is quite different than normal.)

Yeah, that’s right. That hot new metallic grey car in the garage is mine. Mine and Paulo’s. Spoiler and all.

“You sure are trading up!” the sales rep exclaimed. “This beats the Yaris any day.”

“Don’t knock the Yaris,” I told him. “I loved that car. I am sad to see it go.” And it was true. With its Barcelona Red color and an interest rate through the roof, that little 4-door sedan had treated me well. It didn’t matter that it had no real power behind it, it had all I needed. Four durable wheels, a reliable engine, and a stereo system. And it was mine. Two summers ago, I proudly walked into that Toyota dealership with nothing but almost non-existent credit and walked out with a pink slip in my hand and a big debt to pay. But I didn’t care. I was the first person in my family to buy a brand new car -- the first.

“Oh,” she said as soon as she got in my car and saw the push button locks and the hand crank to roll up the window, “so really it is an old car that looks like a new car!” Teenagers these days, they have no understanding of reality. Sheesh.

“No Amaris, it really is a new car. It just doesn’t have power locks or windows, but not all cars have those.” She just nodded her head, but I could see she wasn’t sure if she really believed me or not. Whatever. Like I said, it was my car, my new-right-off-the lot car. “Actually,” I continued proudly, “it was the showroom car. And besides, this may not seem like a lot to you, but compared to my last car...”

Ah, my last car. A ‘96 Chevy Corsica. I bought Blue Steel three years before the Yaris, and it was a thing of beauty. Who cared that it had nine years on it? With only 56,000 miles the thing was practically brand new. And what a steal! A friend’s dad, figuring his daughter needed something a little more, you know, modern, offered me this car for $1,500. That may not seem like a lot, but when you are college student working part time for any possible extra cash it might as well be fifteen thousand, not fifteen hundred.

And then the phone rang.

“Tiffany, this is the finance office calling about your tuition.” Ugh. This was never on my Top 10 List of Phone Calls I Hoped to Receive. Ok, here it goes... “... and they were saying that we need to give you the money in cash for you to use for travel expenses and things like that.” What? Could you repeat that please?

Sure enough, I had received a special grant for kids like me -- those that were trying to better their lives by obtaining an education instead of following in the path their parents had walked down, the path that lead to bad luck and welfare; kids that were once deemed “a ward of the court” and lived their lives in the foster care system. And, get this, I was receiving $1,500, in cash, to help with “travel expenses”. Their words, not mine.

I drove that Chevy Corsica proudly until the day she died. And then I parked her on the street waiting until I could either come up with the cash to fix her or sell her to somebody who was looking for cheap parts. Hopefully I could get enough money out her to make at least a small down payment on my next car, small. Like, let’s say $800 to $1,000? Yeah, that would be nice. So there she was, living out her last days parked on Bing Street, when I received the other phone call.

“I have bad news,” my roommate told me. “Someone backed into your car, and it is smashed! I can’t even open the door to get in. I have the guy’s insurance information for you. He left it in a note on the windshield...”

Very long and tedious story short, his insurance not only gave me a rental car for a week, but appraised my very dead car at about double what I payed for it, despite the fact we found out the odometer had been rolled back 30,000 miles some years before. When I went to the auto body shop to grab my things out of the trunk and say goodbye to Blue Steel one last time, the mechanic glanced over at my car, now 12-years-old and with an actual 126,000 miles on it.

“Oh man, I bet you are glad to see that thing go.”

Looking up at him, I slowly shook my head. “No. This car was a huge step up from my last car.” But honestly, anything would have been a huge step up from an ‘88Dodge Colt Hatchback. In fact, I don’t know if you could take a step-down from it. But still, that Colt, in all of its rusty-top-and-cracked-vinyl-seating glory, took me places -- 30,000 miles worth. Somebody had dropped it off at the drug-rehab home for women and children where my mother was first a patient, later a worker. For only $500, paid in cash to the manager of the rehabilitation home, after a summer of hard work as a camp counselor when I was still a young thing of 19, that car was not only my car, it was my first car. And with the kind of love you can have for only a first car, I drove thing around town with pride.

Well, not at first. First I needed to learn to drive it. Stick-shift, you know. They didn’t give me any practice with that in Driver’s Ed.

My mom and I went out to an alley way near her house one afternoon and she gracefully showed the art of driving a manual. And then it was my turn, which was neither graceful nor art. Mom, still chipper, hopped back in the driver’s seat and showed me, slowly and clearly, once more. Clutch, gas, let-off-clutch, go. Giving a smile and a nod that I had it, we once again switched spots Clutch, gas, let-off-clutch, stall. In only took a few more tries before she threw her hands up in the air and said, “Here’s what we’ll do. You’ll take my car back to college and I will keep Petey the Put-Put Mobile.”

And that’s what we did. For a few months, until my mother was completely sure I was not going to stall out on the freeway and kill myself, we swapped cars. Finally, when I think she could handle life without air-conditioning no longer, she drove herself up and we gave the cars back to their rightful owners. Later that day, when I stalled out at a red light and couldn’t get the darn thing to go, I called my mom in tears, begging her to help me. “Honey, you are 200 miles away. What do you expect me to do? You’ll figure something out.” That was it. Sink or swim. It took some struggle, and a few more tears, but swim -- er, drive -- I did. In my car, my very own car.

Now we have a new car down there -- our very own new car. With all its shininess and nifty little exterior doo-hickeys, it looks like a million bucks. And unlike the Yaris, this one does not come with an interest rate that would make you drop dead if I told you. No, this time we were “well-qualified buyers”. What a difference that makes! This time we didn’t have to beg for a loan and take the simplest car on the lot. No, this time around we had options. As Paulo and I have said at least 100 times since we signed the paper yesterday, “Praise God!”

Yes, praise Him for our new car!

And praise Him for the red Yaris!

And praise Him for the ‘96 Corsica.

And praise Him for the ‘88 Dodge Colt Hatchback and for its red Hawaiian print
seat covers!

Praise Him! For through these cars He has shown me that He does have plans for me.

Plans for me to have what I need, when I need it.

Plans for me to move up from where I have been in life.

Plans for me to be able to say, “Yes, I know He cares for me. If you don’t believe me, let me tell you about my cars...”