Why Write...?

 

Why Write…

By John W. Vander Velden

 

It is a question I ask myself from time to time…why write? Fact is the answer I come up with is complex. To others it might not seem so. For they might imply that I write because I can. And that is true enough, but does not begin to explain the full spectrum of the reasons I sit hour after hour staring at the screen while my clumsy fingers abuse the keyboard.

To begin with, I am a story teller, and one of the ways I choose to tell my stories is through the written word. Of course, once I imagined that I might earn a few dollars with my stories. I have awakened from that dream years ago, and yet I continue. Since I haven’t earned anything, that is above my costs, I am told that my writing is no more than a hobby. I resent that idea, no matter how accurate it might seem. I work too hard at this craft to accept that my writing is just a hobby.

So why???

For one thing, I recognize I have been given a gift…the ability to create these stories you may or may not love. God provided me the talent. Often it feels as if God supplies the very words that filter through my fingers and at last end up on the page. If I feel that God has given me these things, shouldn’t I endeavor to use those gifts. I consider it my obligation.

Then there are the stories themselves. It might sound strange, but to me the stories are living, breathing things. They dwell within my skull awaiting the opportunity to escape. These stories have always been with me. Each individual tale comes to me from my imagination, and most evaporate with time, yet some are like demanding children that are not satisfied until they have been given their life upon the page.

But there are other reasons, and among them is the simple fact that my books are proof I exist. The stories are a bit of the legacy I will one day leave behind. The books are records of accomplishments. They may not pay cash, but they pay me by increasing my feeling of self-worth.

Completing four books is no accident…Each one is, in some ways, proof of victories won in hard fought battles.

But the war goes on, and perhaps that is the best explanation of why I write…

(405 Words) 11-26-2025

 

Another Excerpt from When Light Comes Unexpected

 

Another Excerpt from:

When Light Comes Unexpected

―Choices―

Taken from Chapter 9

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Nick watched as the afternoon’s light filtered through the branches above and shone on the creek as it flowed. The stream of water was forced to rise and fall by the stones it flowed over and around. A thought came to him as the stream remained within his focus. Matthew said, In life we have choices. Had he made the best choices? We can be moving forward, like the creek’s water, or we can be stuck in one place.

“Like a rock,” Nick spoke aloud as he finished Matthew’s words.

Matthew had told him that, the time he had found Nick sitting in this exact spot. But the man he had come to respect, more, had come to love, had told him something else. Something about the choices each person has to make. With the sound of flowing water, a music that always helped him, Nick remembered those words. And though Nick had often rehashed his past, he had wondered whether the words were true. But now, on this late Sunday afternoon, he reached out to those words and grabbed them like a lifeline. “We make choices, Nick,” the man’s voice echoed in the boy’s head. “We make choices, the best choices based on what we know at the time.”

Had he really? Had he, Nick Coulter, made the decision to leave Missouri, based on what he knew―then? Matthew had continued, “When we look back and say we ought to have done this or that, and feel bad about what might have been, we gotta tell ourselves that at the time, we done the best we could.”

Wishing he could believe that leaving home was best, his doubts had persisted. Was leaving beneficial for his sisters? For his mother? Surely the friction within the home would have decreased. No matter how hard Nick had tried, he and Tanner had not meshed. Nick couldn’t deal with the way his mother’s husband operated the farm. How Tanner abused the draft animals. The poor farming practices which, by now, would likely have the creditors at the door.

Nick bit his lip. Had it been a mistake not to take Mister and Missus’ offer to go home for a visit? Bending over, he found a pebble and tossed it into the water streaming before him. He watched the small stone sink to the bottom of the shallow creek. But that pebble did not come to rest on the creek bed. Rather the swift water caused it to tumble downstream. Certainly not as rapidly as the water’s flow, but it moved rotation, after rotation, until it was out of sight.

He sat there wondering, for that stone was neither the flowing water nor one of the stationary rocks. That pebble had become something unique. How would that bit of rock fit Matthew’s words, when the man described choices?

Nick stared at the stream, barely aware of the flowing water. The small stone may not rush headlong with the stream, Nick decided, but it still moved.

Life might push him along, but it was up to him, Nick Coulter, to decide just how much change it would cause.

“Yes,” he told the rushing water, “Matthew is right. It is up to me to choose. To think through each of those choices and then decide. I must move forward, but at the pace that is best.” And hopefully, he thought, learn from the mistakes he’d make along the way.

Yes, he would go back to Missouri, but not quite yet. If those kids from Illinois were coming, then Mister and Missus would need him for a time.

He gave himself a sharp nod.

(606 Words) 11-7-2025

 

An Excerpt from When Light Comes Unexpected

 

An Excerpt from When Light Comes Unexpected

Book 4 of the Misty Creek Series

 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

When the morning broke clear with an unusual coolness, the residents of Hancock’s Bluff had decreased by one.

It was at that moment Matthew had come to her. Perhaps he had heard the whispers, or perhaps the man who had bound his life with hers felt the need. The instant he entered, Elizabeth rushed to the arms of the man whose face reflected the sadness she felt. Within his embrace she melted, as if her legs could no longer support her. Matthew held her close as she wept. But the tears that fell were not hers alone, for Elizabeth felt her husband’s as well.

***

Those who lived in the wide-open places understood life and death better than some living in what might be called a more civilized world. The mud and blood of life was something each had dealt with. Mr. Welcome Morgan had built a box. A pine casket that he knew his friend would need when the time came.

The time had come.

Mrs. Schoff and another had dressed the dear woman out, and then everyone over the age of ten came to pay their final respects. Nearly all had said their goodbyes to Eloise before her passing, but that did not fulfill the need to pay honor to the woman who seemed to have always been there. Eloise lived at the Bluff before anyone thought to name the place.

It was mid-afternoon of another cloudless day when all was completed and everyone had gathered. Ben told her that it was time.

“No,” Elizabeth insisted.

“But…” he began.

“In the morning Ben. Early, while the dew is on the grass and the lark sings. That would be the time Eloise would want it done. She would want us all to experience the glory of the day’s awakening. To be surrounded by what she called the “wild opens.” The land she loved.”

***

They left the settlement known as Hancock’s Bluff before the sun had risen. Mr. Morgan had hitched his horses to a flat wagon, and the men—Matthew and Nick among them—had carried her out the store’s front door, down the steps, and slid the coffin gently onto that wagon. It was early, with only the gray dimness of the day, when Welcome Morgan eased his horses forward. The wagon was followed by the sad-faced preacher-man, holding his Bible. The pallbearers came next, and behind the six men, Elizabeth and a multitude of those that called the settlement their home. The procession went up the hillside, past the smoke stacks jutting out of the soil. The train of wagon, preacher, and the rest veered to the right, leaving the strips of dirt that passed for a road behind.

How far they had gone, Elizabeth wasn’t certain, but far enough that she found herself surrounded by the open prairie land. The place they approached was no different than other places she had seen on the prairie, except they followed the crest of the bluff. To her right she could see miles of open land, dotted by a sod house and barn here and there. Fields lay below the bluff as far as she could see. Perhaps further. They stopped, surrounded by the near waist-high, dew-covered wild grasses, the blades burnt golden by the summer sun. There was no fence, no row of markers, nothing to separate the featureless grassland from any other, save for the mound of earth and the place from which that soil had come.

A pink blush in the eastern sky caught everyone’s attention as they waited. The day was dead calm, so unusual for the open country. It felt to Elizabeth as if nature itself held its breath in reverence of the moment.

Ben took his place at the grave, here in what felt like the middle of the vastness of Kansas. The way grasslands had been before it was Kansas. A time before any settlers had come. The men set the casket at the side of the grave and Elizabeth, like the world around her, found herself holding her breath as the sheer brilliance of the first rays of the morning sun tore apart the sky.

9-24-2025 (710 Words)

 

 

A Bit of Light...

 

A Bit of Light…

By John W. Vander Velden

          The world around us seems a dark place. The news focuses on the pain and suffering near and far. How easily it is for us to become overwhelmed by what we perceive as a complete picture of present-day realities.

          Yet, what we fear society has become, is not completely accurate. Truth is there are good people out there. Folks that work for the best, even though their labors go unnoticed. Perhaps one way to describe them is to say they bring a bit of light to the places they go. Too often we do not notice these important flickers, that in truth are nearer than we think. But worse… too often we do not recognize that, in our own small way, we too can contribute to the battle against darkness. That each of us has a bit of light we can share with others, a way to make the dark less dark, even if it is in the life of one person.

          Fact is, it is not so difficult.

It begins by caring. Caring about the difficulties another person faces. Trying to understand the challenges of their lives. We focus on the veneer of the lives of those that surround us, satisfying ourselves that things for them are perfect, or in the least much better than the world we face. But what they reveal is seldom the complete view of the burdens they carry. But when we truly care, when we get to know them better, a time will come when the veneer slips enough for us to begin to understand a bit deeper about their difficulties. And in doing so we realize that everyone faces hard times, loss, illness, and disappointments.

          It is by caring we are driven to act. A listening ear, a gentle touch. Proving that you are willing to be there. Doing so offers just a bit of brightness, a contrast to the darkness they may be facing.

          The world can be changed by these small acts of kindness. It is up to you and me, to bring a bit of light…

 

 

Words Matter...

 

Words Matter…

By John W. Vander Velden

June 28, 2025

Some year ago, as I began to take my writing seriously, I was told that I needed some sort of internet presence. That a few posts on Facebook and Twitter just wasn’t going to cut it. That was early 2012 and though I had no idea what I was doing I began blogging. I honestly did not know what a blog was, when I set up my google blogger site. It was a time for experimenting.

But I did have a mental picture of what I intended my blog to be…something literary.

After much thought and preparation, I started Ramblings…Essays and Such…in March of 2012, and for years I generated new content each week. It had been my hope to offer something of merit and if I was fortunate a bit of name recognition would come of it. And though other writing demands have kept me from adding many new posts these last years, the Blog has, at present, 447 posts, most under 500 words.

There are among them a few that have gotten a steady number of page visits, such as Misty Morning and Hot Summer Afternoon, but most have only received fifty to sixty page views over the 13+ years. But there is an exception. Broken Teacup, first published December 31^st, 2015.

Yesterday, Broken Teacup surpassed 75,000 pageviews.

Even as I watched the view count approach that magic number, I found myself amazed at how those particular words have touched so many. I have received comments from all around the globe, and have been deeply touched by those kind words sent in my direction.

So today, I celebrate, that the gift God has given this often broken and mended man, Broken Teacups’ success. That the words within that blog post has achieved notice far beyond my expectations.

It is proof, you see, that words matter.

(320 Words) 6-28-2025