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..."