Word After Word After Word

Word After Word After Word

By John W. Vander Velden

I have been asked how I write a book...the process required. Perhaps I gave that person a simplistic answer when I told him you just have to put one word after another. You see I believe there is a difference between coming up with a story and writing a book. Don’t get me wrong, writing a book, especially fiction, requires story telling skills. Skills for developing a plot, and all the rest that is needed to fill that plot, description of setting, and character as well. However turning those concepts, that live only in my mind, into words on the page that transmit what I’m thinking in a way my reader accepts is another matter entirely.

I love writing first drafts. I love writing word after word after word and seeing where those words lead me. I seldom know the ending before I get there. But no matter how I might love my original draft, “it is a long way to Tipperary”, and being publishing ready. There is revisions, and sending revised draft off to my editor. Hi Kristina. And the revisions to follow. But in the end it is writing word after word after word.

When I look at the mountain of work writing a book requires, I ask myself, “why?” Why go to all the trouble to complete a task that probably won’t pay for its cost, let alone reward me for my effort? The truth, the absolute truth is. I write because I must. Because the stories come as un-thieves, break into my mind and leave their treasures behind. Those non-burglars demand I do my best to fill in the blanks...word after word after word.

It is my only hope that when I am finally through stringing words, like beads on a thread, that the result is good enough, that I do not fail the quiet voice within me that gives me a story...word after word after word. (324 Words) 3-2-2019

Thirty

Thirty      

By John W. Vander Velden 

As Alex lies in the predawn dimness he considers.  To others thirty years is a long time but as he watches the rhythmic rise and fall of the blankets beside him; it seems only a few blinks.  He listens to the symphony of quiet breaths and wonders how he reached this place.  The memories come -- memories of walks on quiet pathways -- memories of their first kiss -- memories of the time she revealed she loved him.  Alex draws a breath, closes his eyes and goes to those times, relives thousands of special moments.  He sees his beloved, dressed in white, coming -- coming to him.  He sees the trembling lip beneath the vail, and remembers that he was afraid as well.  That Saturday he doubted himself – knew he was unworthy – and yet…  The remainder of that day a blur, but it was the beginning – and yet not.

His mind filled with images of so many moments.  In the flood of the past Alex pushes aside the times of heartache.  He understands that everyone faces dark times and hurtful words.  They are but stepping stones to better places and need to be crossed but once.  In the grand scale, those insignificant, for the good outweigh them many times over. He swallows and wonders why.  Why would the woman bind herself to him?  What did she see that he could not? 

Watching as the morning light grows stronger he smiles.  With a gentle touch she would awaken, share this special time – another special instant.  But Alex does not wake his beloved, no, he knows himself fortunate.  For he shares his life with his bestest of bestest friends – his hero – his confidant – the one that saved him – the only one that could.  When the world’s craziness came and it had come often, her arms returned the stability to the chaos.  In her words hope could be found.  Together they faced storms.  Together they raised three enthusiastic boys.  Together they faced loss – together…

And today it would be thirty years – and it was only the beginning!

(343 Words)         1-11-2015

  

 

Where DO The Words Come From?

Where DO the Words Come From?           

By John W. Vander Velden

 

A few of us met last night for coffee at the end of our writer’s meeting. We do so most months. To the outside eye it might seem, we are just three people from different backgrounds, talking about movies, books and other stuff, but we understand the common thread. We are writers...

The fact that each of us has been published is not the basis for the definition...writer. In my view anyone that takes the time to stitch words together to create something out of language deserves the title of writer. Simply...we do and so we are.

The conversation rambled about as it always does, but a question arose...where DO the words come from?

Those that do not engage in the pursuit, might not see the value of the question. Surely the author brings his knowledge and selects his choice words in the way he pleases. But the question is deeper than word choice...it is about the form those words take and how they generate the image a reader builds in his or her mind.

I know I have had times, many times, when I complete a scene and looking back wonder where on earth that scene was born. Surely I am unable to create something of that magnitude, on my own. Where did the sentences, the paragraphs, or the chapter that now fills the page that lies before me come from. I tell myself I do not have that kind of talent.

I believe that the best that I have written...and likely the best I will ever write, comes from places of which I have no control. Period!

Deep inside me there is a seed planted before my birth. Whether you agree with me on this point of not is your choice, but does not change the truth I feel. For I believe...strongly...that GOD has carefully placed that tiny spark in my soul. That he expected me to cultivate that seed and help it grow. That time and time again I would tap into that seedling and find something unexpected...something with power...something I should share.

That seed remains there. Year after year, it continues to feed new growth. It continues to provide many things, and among them the words these clumsy fingers tap out onto the page. So on days like this one...days when I read a line I have written that takes me by total surprise...I know where the words come from.  They sprout out of...life, its joys and pains. They grow out of...self-examination, carefully looking at my achievements and failures. But most of all they come from a small seed planted deep within me by GOD.  That is where the words DO come from...

(459 Words) 2-8-2019

Pale Light

Pale Light

By John W. Vander Velden

                  

 

The cold night air stings nose and lungs as I walk over the rolling snow covered field.  Only the brightest stars, those that dare confront the brilliance of the full moon, dot the dark overhead.  The land lays painted beneath the pale light, the moon illuminating the snowy landscape, reflecting various shades of gray, in the pristine night.  The way I chose leads across the rolling land made more so by ocean like waves, drifts piled and driven firm by winds past, my steps at times labored.  Now air calm, my breath’s steam hanging before me, freezing ice drops in my moustache, carries no sound other than my own.  With eyes sweeping the frozen world, enjoying a different beauty of light and shadow of open spaces shared by none.  Here alone beneath the stars and moon…here alone as I trudge through knee deep drifts…here alone in a world illuminated by pale light…I find myself once more.  As I pause, as I study the night world lit by pale light, as I look in each compass point, seeing no other, a place most solitary I have found.  Yet even here, I know…I am not truly alone…not here in the mid of open land…not here, far from home and hearth, far from those wiser within warm walls.  No, the stars and moon remind me with their pale light…I am never alone!!!

 

 

 

Who Am I?

Who Am I?

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Who Am I?

Who are you?

There are times I ask myself those questions.  But to be honest, my view of who I am is seen through a very different lens than my perception of others.  I recognize that I have been shaped by thousands upon thousands of life experiences. Truthfully, I believe we are all affected by the things that have happened to us, but by the same token we have had some influence upon how the events of our lives play out. I am molded by my life, but I have also molded my life. A strange paradox don’t you think.

So as I take the time to consider exactly who I am, I understand that dealing with events, subtle and dramatic and the whole spectrum in between, have had a part in making me...me. I also recognize that life has shaped those around me as well in ways I cannot know.

But it is more, for each of us view the world through our own individual eyes. Each of us vary in sensitivity...how we feel, the emotional impact of the world that surrounds...the people that we know...and all the rest. Perhaps it is a matter of empathy, how we respond to the highs and lows of others when they face challenges, successes and setbacks, that life tosses their way. Those open enough to feel can grow through those experiences as well.

Who I am may not be who you think I am. And the same thing can be said about my perception of you as well.

This all springs from a wonderful conversation I had this week. During an interview I told a reporter, that is quickly becoming a friend, that I believed in the story of Misty Creek. It was my faith in the story I had written which drove me to get it published. I was asked to explain, and as the conversation rambled on the discussion moved to what I thought was the primary theme of Misty Creek. I told her that many of my stories have a similar thread, and that thread was personal value. How it is perceived and how often real value was very different than what superficial examinations might show.

Many do not take the time to see...who a person really is. We hang a label on an individual and think it is enough...but it isn’t.

For each of us have been labeled. We are labeled by those that think they know us. We are labeled by those that merely see us in passing. We are labeled by the rumors or gossip of others. And in truth few if any of those labels carry any accuracy at all.

In my stories the way one character sees another changes, as with time, layers are peeled away and the truth is revealed. That the labels first assigned prove to be incorrect. That the value that society has placed upon my character does not truly show who that character is.

Matthew is not just a laborer, simply because he is dusty. Elizabeth is not valueless because she is barren. And William Clark is not nearly as important in the community as his money and clothing imply.

The characters prove the labels are wrong!

Yes, it’s just a story.  But I hope readers realize there is some truth blended into those words. Just because Misty Creek is fiction doesn’t mean what it says is not true.

So who am I? I am not the summation of labels others may use. No, I am all the bits and pieces of the life I have lived, blended with the genetics I have been given. These patches are stitched together in ways that even I am unable to understand, but certainly beyond the comprehension of others. Only God knows how those thousands of parts are bound one against the other to form the quilt that is me. Only He can answer the question I ask...who am I? It is enough to know I am God’s child...and that is a label I gracefully accept.

Knowing these things...the very heart of the matter...I will do my best not to label others...for I must, in the end, recognize that what is true for me is true for you as well...

Who am I?...Who are you?...Only God truly knows...

(738 Words)

Saturday's Snow

Saturday’s Snow             

By John W. Vander Velden

I was led to thinking about a winter day a couple of years ago. Saturday often found us seeking our lunch at the local Wendy’s. Just another dreary day during the perma-cloudy season of northern Indiana winter. As I sat staring out the window I did not take the phone call I received from a friend that lived some ten miles west seriously. He asked about cancelling the church service the following day. I just shook my head as I looked out at the dreary day. “We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” I told him.

The snow began just as we made our way to the car. Blinding large flakes thicker than fog blew across the parking lot, and soon visibility became limited.

I chose the country roads, it was only nine miles, thinking the nearness of the fence line would give me bearings. It soon became foolish.

The way familiar. The time, just passed noon. The car, well it was just our old PT Cruiser. Visibility near zero.

Time moves incredibly slowly when you drive by feel. Headlights burst out of the whiteness before us only feet in front of our bumper. We can’t stop. But I slam into a drift and our car finds itself cocked partly across the road and forward motion ceases. I rock the car. No luck.

I squeeze out into the blindness hoping against hope that no one was as foolish as I. Jackie takes the controls as I push and we wedge the old Chrysler forward and free.

Onward we press on...slowly...headlights on...flashers blinking...wipers slapping the snow aside. How we find the intersection I will never know, but we began heading north only a few more miles to go. They were long miles. Moving forward meant a shorter walk home. Moving forward, not certain if we would come to the next turn. Moving forward wondering exactly where we were.

The car is quiet. Only the sounds the defroster blasting and the windshield wipers whup, whup, in their feeble attempt to make visibility possible in a white world that absorbed our view only feet from the windshield. We sit side by side silently staring into the opaque world that has engulfed us. We stare forward trying to pick out any familiarities, a tree perhaps, a gate, anything.

At last the final turn. Thumping through drifts. Pounding through I need to keep the momentum going. We reach the neighbor’s drive and I back in.

My heart begins to beat again. When I release the steering wheel the trembling starts.

They are wonderful people and I am certain they could not imagine that anyone would come thumping on their door on THAT Saturday afternoon.

Jim took us home, he had four wheel drive.

I have driven for fifty years, springs, summers, fall and winters too. But I have never faced a situation like that Saturday’s Snow and hope never to face such an event again.

(488 Words)  1-12-2019

A Look Backward

A look Backward     

By John W. Vander Velden

As the year comes to its conclusion, it is perfectly normal to look backward at the year or years behind us. Personally, I take too much time looking in the rearview mirror for my own good, dwelling upon stumbles I’ve made. It’s OK to look back, but I should not dwell there, and overall I don’t.

But as I look forward to the new year ahead, I hope I have learned something from 2018. For the year contained many firsts. Imagine that, this old dog had new experiences. I, like most, faced a few frightening things during the year, and have overcome a couple of threats to my person. To clarify, these dangers came from life in general not from an angry individual. But I have had many wonderful experiences that outweigh the negative many times over.

The thrill of holding the first copy of my book cannot be measured with a ruler. The wonderful people I have met while I promoted Misty Creek will long be remembered. Watching my son graduate from Purdue University will always be a pinnacle of my life, though moving him out of state carries its own melancholy. Life goes on and to the fortunate it brings new things, but it is up to us to reach out and grab the golden ring isn’t it.

We did a bit of traveling in 2018 and saw new places in a way we haven’t before. Life is meant to be lived and there are many ways to live it. Watching our children’s wings grow stronger, even if that means they fly further away. Trying something new like writing a book. Traveling to new places. Facing new challenges and difficulties. All these things are part of the life we have been given. All these things...the good and the bad as well are gifts and should be appreciated.

So a new year stands before me and I have no idea what it will bring. But that’s the magic of it. To be wide open to the 365 days of possibilities. Yes, there will be setbacks. Yes, there will be things I would rather not face, but must. Yes, there will be heartbreak. But there will also be those amazing moments, fantastic sunrises and sets, the huge full moon when it breaks the horizon, there will be friends and laughter, and there will always be love. And that is  the greatest thing of all.

For each day I know I am surrounded by love. Love from people I know, friends and family. Love from my faraway son. Love from my beloved, Jackie, who makes my life livable, and love from God that makes my life possible.

So take a look backward...but don’t dwell in the past. Look forward...but don’t get lost in what might be...it is the now that matters and the love that surrounds.

12/25/2018 (479 Words)