The Book is Set Free

 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

It is hard to describe the feeling of seeing your book for the first time. Oh, you have poured over the pages many, many times, have seen pictures of the cover, knew the approximate page count, but the emotion of opening the box and grasping the proof of what you have labored to create, is indescribable.

It is the moment art moves from the internal to external―from the imagined to the real.

In November I wrote a blog post shortly after the fist box arrived, about just that feeling. Today I write about a book next feeble steps forward, on its own legs.

March 7^th is a significant day on the calendar. On that day in 1925, my father was born. I was asked to pick a day, any day, for the public release of With the Sun’s Rising. I picked Dad's Birthday.

And so, the third book of the Misty Creek Series has gone what publishers call live, on Tuesday. It has been set free from the box―if you will.

I will not predict how successful With the Sun’s Rising will be. Honestly that will depend upon many things, one of them is just how aggressively I promote it. The release party we had at La D’zert Café Thursday was only the beginning. The fine folks there provided a wonderful setting and fantastic treats, and I thank them for their unwavering faith in this author and the use of the beautiful space downtown Plymouth. But that event was only the beginning. In the next months I hope to find the time to do other Author’s Events. I’ll let you know where and when.

But no matter how well the book sells, I am proud of the finished product―proud of the story.

It is my hope that fans of the series will be pleased as well.  

(306 Words) 3-11-2023

Another Excerpt from With the Sun's Rising

 

Tuesday March 7th, would have been my father's 98th birthday. I chose that date for the official release of With the Sun's Rising, the third book of the Misty Creek Series. To celebrate the release of this book I offer here the first few pages. 

I hope to see some of you at the official release event, Thursday March 9th 5:00 till 7:00 PM (EST). The vent will be hosted by La D'zert Cafe, 401 N. Michigan Street. Plymouth, Indiana. 

Stay tuned for other events in the coming months.

John

Another Excerpt from With the Sun’s Rising

By John Vander Velden

 

 

Through the open window Elizabeth heard the night breeze as it flowed past the

treetops. The soft whoosh, which would have lifted her curtains had she finished them, brought with it the scents of woods and water. Matthew, lying warm and near, slept quietly. Even now, as a married woman, she found sharing a bed with her new husband a novel experience in so many ways.

She listened closely to Matthew’s soft breathing, proof that she wasn’t in the center of a wonderful dream. Never would she have imagined, on that summer day just two years ago that she, a heartbroken teacher, could find the love she now shared. Leaving Ohio, the only world she knew had been the catalyst to this life.

Elizabeth turned to face his form so near. She yearned to reach out, to touch Matthew, to lay her head against his chest and hear the calming thump, thump, thump of his heart, but she refrained from waking him. How hard her husband, who stood so tall and straight, worked. For though the mill nearby slept through the night, Matthew had labored long hours within the thrumming structure. Hard days of heavy lifting and carefully operating the countless gears and shafts, not to mention the grand water wheel that turned the stones and ground corn or wheat, each in their season.

Yes, Matthew needed his rest, and more, deserved it.

Their new life in Misty Creek would be idyllic if not for the memory of Leon Simns, the short grubby farmer that had hated the school and her, its teacher. She would never forget how Simns had stood lurking about and spying on the class from the school yard on multiple occasions. Elizabeth should have taken his threats seriously, and Matthew had paid dearly for her failing.

Simns had caught her unaware as she walked the path beneath the trees, not much more than a mile north of the bed she shared with Matthew. The tall man, long before he became her husband, had saved her from Simns’ vile hands that May afternoon. Now as she viewed Matthew’s silhouette in the late night’s dimness, her mind flashed to the image of his wounded form beneath the trees. Elizabeth closed her eyes attempting to push that memory aside, fearing her involuntary tremble would wake her man.

Matthew rolled onto his back. Snoring proved he slept, peacefully she hoped.

But on this particular night, Elizabeth felt no peace. Matthew had nearly died. Simns’ knife had nearly completed the evil man’s task. It was but the first time Simns had attempted to end the miller of Misty Creek’s life. There had been two others. She found the darkest parts of the night were the times was when Leon Simns haunted her most. Times, while Matthew slept at her side, when a shadow crossed the open window, or the eerie hoot came in out of the night, Elizabeth was reminded of a world not as peaceful as it seemed. Tonight, it was the coyote’s call, much nearer than ever before, that released the memories of Leon Simns. Would the man always remain a dark cloud that haunted and caused her to catch her breath? Twice as she slept, when the image of the man leering down on her that hot August afternoon only weeks ago burst into her mind, Elizabeth’s muscles had snapped, waking her husband.

Each time Matthew had asked sleepily, “What’s the matter?”

“It’s only a bad dream,” she had answered, hoping it was enough.

Both times he had opened his arm and held her close. Both times she had hated herself for not telling the man she loved the truth.

 

Trek Around the Sun

 

 

Trek Around the Sun

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Perhaps each week has commonalities. A repeat of named days following in the exact same order. Weeks that have common patterns we must follow, each nearly a photocopy of the last. One day just following another.

But I, for one, never thought of weeks or days either, in that manner. I will not say I have always been excited by each morning’s arrival, or that I haven’t at times allowed days and even weeks to blend together. For I have. But my profession gave me a bit different perspective than others might have. For being tied to soil, crop, and livestock, to live a life controlled by weather and season, presented each day as unique. Perhaps the differences might be so subtle, but at times, one day could be dramatically different. A sudden thunderstorm, perhaps, a difficult caving, a broken piece of equipment. My life was like that, at times, unpredictable.

 Perhaps it was this week that drives my thoughts in these particular musings. For on this week, I have successfully ridden this globe for seventy-one treks about the sun. Perhaps once I thought that seventy-one was a large number when it was associated with a person’s age. There are times I still do, when aching joints and weakening muscles remind me of my body’s condition. But looking back―looking back the years seem but a fleeting moment.

Changes in my life’s obligations, offer me a greater opportunity to look back. Give me time to consider my past. No, I don’t sit in my rocker, chew on a stem of grass with a cup of coffee in my hand and just reminisce. I’m too busy for that. Perhaps one day, but that version of life doesn’t really appeal to me. But as I ride this globe on yet another circuit, I do at times remember. And in those moments, I find it unbelievable that I have the number seventy-one attached to years of my existence.

How could it be?

Why only yesterday…

Well, I guess not yesterday, but it was not all that long ago.

It can’t be that long ago. I mean, it doesn’t seem possible.

But times when I dig back through my photo stock, when I see images of the places that Jackie and I have gone, reminders of the adventures we have shared, then yes, it has been that long. So, I must admit, at least to myself, that I have had quite a run. Riding this planet year after year, has been and continues to be filled with events. Some of those events may stand out more than others, but each a part of my life. And though I might categorize them by how I felt at the time, some wonderful, and others not so much, I will acknowledge that each one was necessary. Every one of the more than 49,099 days I have ridden this planet, has done its part to make me the man I am. A different man than the one I was only yesterday, and I expect to be a different than the man tomorrow.

For I am changed by life’s experiences.

And that excites me.

For I know that God isn’t done with me yet. He continues to mold me for the tasks yet unseen. And with his help I will stride forward with the energy that remains, and face the challenges ahead, and try not to be too critical of my past missteps. With God’s help perhaps one day I will come to accept myself as I am, yet always striving to become just a little bit better than I was. That I try, to find ways to share the love God has so freely given me, with others. To become the best husband, father, neighbor, and friend I can be.

Yes, you see, I’m on trek ride around the sun, a and fortunately I do not travel alone.

     (648 Words) 2-11-2023

Journey

Journey By John W. Vander Velden

 

Each day, we resume our journey. The journey most calls their lives.

And as we venture forward, one way or another, we interact with others. Most of those “others” are the same “others” that we have had connected to before. The circle of acquaintances that make up our lives, which include family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, and a random assortment of people that have become an important to us in other ways as well. 

On this daily trek, opportunities arise that introduce us to some, whose own journey would not seem to intersect with ours in a meaningful way. Perhaps by chance, though I believe those encounters are nudged along by greater forces, we come to meet…someone. And there are times what appears a random encounter proves to become something greater. 

Friends and how we gather them, has always been, an enigma to me. Maybe that is how it should be. For friendship cannot be forced and last, but true friendship lasts throughout our lifetime. Perhaps longer. And it is not the number of friends we have accumulated, but the bond our friendship forms which truly matters. 

I write these ramblings, with a relatively new friend on my mind. Our life’s journeys only brushed lightly in their passing, but in those subtle contacts, something larger than I had imagined came to be.  

Friendship. 

Now this friend comes to my mind often, as that particular friend faces life’s challenges. I am reminded that each of us must deal with the unwanted situations and the unexpected demands that living gives. And such is the situation this friend faces. 

I pray for this friend, as I pray for many others. You see it makes no difference how this connection came to be or how long our friendship has existed. This person is a friend, and I care about my friends. 

Isn’t that the way it should be? 

Empathy, caring, is part of the man I am. It has its price. At times that price is very high. But Empathy also has its rewards. 

You see, because I care, I have a new friend, and friends are the most genuine gems, we accumulate as we move forward, on this journey called life. 

 (367 Words) 1-14-2023

2022 Christmas Letter

 

2022 Christmas Letter

Our Farm

December 5, 2022

We have reached the final page of the 2022 Calendar. It seems the days have rushed pastat a crazy pace but time has returned, for me to consider the year nearly completed.

Once I thought the days dragged on and on, but now I see them as a blur of life events and everyday happenstances. I thought I would share a few of the things that made 2022 special.

Perhaps I should begin with February. The writer that lives at this address had a birthday, some might call it a milestone, for I turned 70. 70 is just a number, but some mornings, it seems a very large number. But it offers a platform to view things in a way I couldn’t before. I have a greater appreciation of things, and a perspective on what is really important, and what, I feel, carries an inflated value. I am grateful for the life I have been blessed with and those, including you my friends, I have had the very good fortune to know and love.

Let’s jump forward to May.

Observation tower at
Clingmans Dome

We had planned to go to Colorado early in the month, but other engagements pushed it to the last week of May. Conflicts delayed with those plans as well, and our return to the Golden State was postponed. Not to be deterred, completely, we aimed southward. It had been years since we had spent time in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and that became our destination. A week at the gateway to the Smoky Mountains was wonderful. Though it rained repeatedly, and I became soaked to the skin the first day down, the precipitation filled streams and waterfalls, and this photographer found hundreds of images to be captured. I saw my first bears in Cade’s Cove. Jackie and Nick had seen bear in Alaska way back in 1999, I had been on the wrong side of the bus on that occasion. 

We walked up to the top of Clingmans Dome, drove the Tail of the Dragon, in the rain no less, spent a day at Dollywood, hiked up to Laurel Falls, and even drove out to Ashville, North Carolina. Each day an adventure. Came home to rest up afterwards.

The summer rushed by so quickly, but we did several day trips, places like Shipshewana, Indiana, and up north into Michigan.

We remained busy throughout the fall, with our home, and family. Suddenly it was Thanksgiving and now December.

Now for a bit of specifics:

Jackie retired from pharmacy in September of last year...sorta’. She has continued to fill in a few hours a week, when needed. But it appears that soon retirement...sorta’ will become retirement for real. But she’s still adjusting to this new phase of her life. Like I told her the best thing about retirement is that you get to set your own schedule.

Nick remains in the Denver, Colorado area. He has been there since September of 2021.
He transferred to a new company early this year. Though he remains in the medical device field, the work experience at ConMed is more to his liking. He works as an engineer in the research and development department. It is across town from Arvada, the municipality in which he lives, but feels the change of states, (Kentucky to Colorado) was a good choice. He loves the area, and the energy of the people there.

Cloey, our sweet little dog, is now a teenager, in real years that is. I haven’t done the math to convert it to dog years, but that is neither here nor there. But the dear thing has a series of health issues and we worry about our little girl. But she is such a blessing to our home.

Well that leaves me. I remain too busy. Guess it’s part of my DNA. Besides taking care of our home and watching over the buildings at the farm, I am active in my church. But the thing that absorbs the largest part of my day is the keyboard and the stories that come from it. After four long years and a zillion hours, I completed the third book of the Misty Creek Series. With the Sun’s Rising is scheduled for release on March 7^th, 2023, on what would have been my father’s 98^th birthday. But one project completed means another must begin. So I have begun book 4. Yes, John must be crazy.

I guess that pretty much brings you up to date, so I will close with these few words. There is a reason to celebrate Christmas, and it is not because of some hypothetical imaginary magical day. No, we understand the real reason. For we celebrate that God so loved the world, He sent his Son...not to condemn but to save. We mark December 25^th as a day we focus on the birth of Jesus Christ, for whether Christ was born on that day or another is irrelevant. But the fact is that He was born, born for you and me, and that is more than reason enough to set a day aside to celebrate.

So it is our wish that this letter finds you and yours healthy and ready to face the year ahead. That Christmas brings all the love and light it can. That the reason for the season fills you heart with joy, laughter, and light.

From the Vander Veldens of the greater Tyner-Teegarden area of Northern Indiana, we wish you the merriest of Christmases, and a wonderful 2023.

John

 

 

 

In the Box

By John W. Vander Velden

 

A bit more than a week ago the first box of With the Sun’s Rising, arrived at my doorway. Twelve copies. Those that have not been keeping close watch would not have noticed that nearly four years of my writing life had gone into this project.

Four years.

Four years of creating the story, recreating the story, revising the story, going through repeated editorial reviews of the story, going through a very diligent proofread of the story. The first editorial revision alone took eight long months.

The project required...four years.

Times I would have abandoned this project, had I not believed so strongly in the story. But for better or worse, the proof is in the box.

I can talk about the emotions that filled me at the sight of that first box of twelve books. I can talk of how it felt to hold the first one I retrieved from that carton. But nothing I say can fully express what passed through me at that moment.

Nothing!

The closest emotion non writers might understand is the birth of their child. No, I do not equate the arrival of neatly bound pages, to the birth of Nicholas. I do not want to even imply that to be the case. But after all the thousands of hours of work, the days of stressing about each scene, the hundreds of moments of self-doubt, the work, the worry, has at last, come to something I can hold.

The story was little more than imaginary stuff roaming around within the computer, but when the first box arrived...With the Sun’s Rising became real!   

But even as I hefted that first box, twenty-five pounds of books, I did not forget those that helped me reach this point. My editor and dear friend, Kristina, the Beta readers for this project, MaryAnn, Vonda, Bonnie, Nancy, and Michelle. They were the first people that I bounced this story off of. My Friend and editor Mark, who did the final proofread through supplied skills I lacked necessary to polish the story to its luster. Also the team of experts at Palmetto Publishing that made the book a beautiful work that anyone would be proud to call theirs. Each of these people were a vital in turning the story into the 658 pages of print.

Then there is the support staff, that carried me through these four years. Jackie, my beloved, lifted me when the burden of the story would have crushed, and she endured the hundreds of scenes read to her. In the end I must recognize the source my feeble writing talent and the One that gave me the story in the first place...God the giver of all good things.

All these things and so much more went through my mind when I opened up and looked into that first box.

(472 Words) 12-2-2022

An Excerpt from With the Sun’s Rising

 

An Excerpt from With the Sun’s Rising

By John W. Vander Velden

 

 

Elizabeth closed the door of the building that was both a one room schoolhouse and the only church in the valley known as Misty Creek.

The first day of school had ended in the white-painted structure that stood among the oak trees on the lakeshore, and she felt content at how the day had unfolded. One could not expect much educational progress after a long break. It would take a few days to reestablish boundaries and rein in the boisterous youngsters.

Elizabeth had to smile when she thought about Mark Tomkins bringing his pet to school. Of course, the lad knew that bringing in an animal, even a favorite snake, would not be allowed. She had sent him out to return the slithering, striped creature to the box that held him—in his father’s barn. It seemed Lisa Tomkins, Mark’s mother, was no more accepting of Sammy, that’s what Mark had named the beast, than Elizabeth. On the boy’s return, she reminded him and the rest of the class that their pets must remain at home, and warned that stricter penalties would be required if that rule was broken. A look of sadness spread over the faces of the younger boys. Perhaps they thought that Mark had set a precedent. That they too could bring a favored cat, dog, or as Elizabeth had heard, Howard Cline’s crow to the classroom.

The door closed with a familiar click and she turned to go down the three steps. She would walk across the dam and bridges to the mill and share the day’s events with Matthew. As she began, a rider approached. The tall slender golden-brown steed ambled easily in her direction. The rider, a man dressed in work clothes with caramel brown trousers and a rust-colored shirt beneath his brown vest, pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a stop at her side. Young Will Clark, the son of the school board president, looked down upon her with his dark brooding eyes, which were shaded by the black hat he always wore.

Elizabeth glanced to the west and the road. “Will, your sister has gone home.”

For a moment he did not answer. She wondered if he still held fast to the vow he made last spring. A promise that he would never speak to her. He looked down the road, the way his half-sister had gone, and returned his dark eyes to her. “She knows the way.” His words were flat.

Elizabeth became uncomfortable beneath his stare. She turned toward the mill. “I must be going.”

Again, he did not immediately respond. When Elizabeth began to move on her way, she heard him say, “Folks say you had some trouble coming in from Thimble.”

Elizabeth froze, drew a deep breath and turned to face him. “Yes, Will, we were attacked.”