This is a duplicate of my post for the American Christian Fiction Writers’ blog tour ongoing at http://www.acfw.com/blog in anticipation of our annual conference in September. The blog tour is a rich resource for writers and full of inspiration for readers. After you and I have chatted here for a moment, trace back through some of the other posts on the tour. Welcome to the table!

NOVEL IDEAS—CONNECTING AT THE TABLE

“Can we talk?”

Among the things that surprise ACFW conference attendees are these:

• It’s amazing how many writers consider themselves introverted.

• It’s amazing how noisy introverts can get when set loose at a writers’ conference.

Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk! We talk in the elevators, in the hallways, in the lobbies, in the classrooms, in the airport shuttle coming and going…

Meal settings provide some the most significant conversations at the ACFW conference. Editors and agents “host” tables and offer those seated with them an opportunity to ask questions or pitch their projects. Writer heaven!

Just like a meal prepared by a FoodNetwork star chef, mealtime conversations at the ACFW conference depend on taste, originality, and presentation.

Having participated in meal conversations at five ACFW conferences and several other writers’ conferences, I’ve collected a few insights that now guide and encourage me. You may also find them heartening.

1. Expect the unexpected. When the Lord intervenes, He shows up in unexpected ways. You may set your internal GPS to a certain editor’s table but find all the seats taken when you get there. If you’ve committed every moment of your conference experience to Him, you can skip over the jolt of disappointment. Many conference attendees testify that they found themselves unexpectedly seated in exactly the right place, though they didn’t know it at the time. At one conference meal, I thought friends were saving a place for me, but we had a slight miscommunication and there was no room left. I started a new table, alone. Soon, I was joined by a woman I’d longed to meet! We spent the entire mealtime engaged in a conversation that forged a friendship I would have missed out on if my own plans had worked out. Another year, I’d had to relinquish my editor appointment because of a volunteer duty that conflicted with the time. Rushing in late to the noon meal, I found the only place remaining in my area and slid in with a relieved sigh. Who was hosting the table? The editor I’d targeted for the appointment I’d had to surrender! I left the meal with an invitation to send my proposal.

2. Shine the spotlight on others. We’ve all felt the discomfort of a table conversation dominated by one person. If it’s the editor or agent hosting the table, count it all joy! You’re gaining valuable insights about the industry or the personality of that professional. As much as writers want and need to take advantage of every opportunity, ACFWers have another dynamic at work. We also long to honor the Lord whom we serve and obey His ideas about relationships. His Word urges us to defer to one another, to show overt kindness, to look out for the interests of others rather than just our own. During a table conversation at the conference, that might mean stepping back to let the spotlight shine on the writer next to you. It might mean promoting your friend’s project as well as your own. It might mean reserving something you want to say because it’s self-serving and puts others at a disadvantage. It’s a balancing act, as is most of the Christian life. We want to walk through doors when the Lord opens them without trampling on others to get there.

3. Take up a collection. If your definition of a successful table meal at the conference is limited to an invitation from the host editor for your book proposal, you may miss God’s specific design. Around the table will flow answers to your plot problems, a new marketing tip, a prayer need you’re especially gifted to help shoulder, the solution to a research dilemma, a contact, a friendship, a connection you may not need now but will in the future. Come to the table with an open heart and listening ear, and you’ll leave fully satisfied.

4. Consider it both a meal and a classroom. Watch how others respond to, “So, tell me about your book.” Note how you—a tablemate—feel if the writer is uncertain or takes off on a cumbersome dissertation. That’s how an editor will feel, too. Watch the patterns of those who give intriguing or well-thought-out responses. How quickly could they grab the table’s attention with their pitch? What made the pitch engaging? How did others at the table respond? What does that tell you about your own project? Even if the agent or editor talks about dogs or children or parasailing rather than fiction, did you learn something?

5. Keep singing. Silently. “Be present at our table, Lord. Be here and everywhere adored.”

ht          http://www.acfw.com/blog

Not far from us is a wonderful biking trail that meanders through the Wisconsin countryside following the footprints of now ancient trains. One of the trail’s highlights is a series of long, cool tunnels through which the biker is instructed to dismount and walk his bicycle through the damp, dark catacombs of stone. After the tunnel’s visual void, emerging into the daylight is like a rebirth into a world of color and creation’s eye-candy.

I was reminded of those tunnels—dark and monochromatic—today as I reflected on why I am so “taken” by summer’s flowers. And so not a fan of winter. I’m a fuchsia-periwinkle-marine blue-teal kind of person. So waking midwinter to nothing but white, dirty white, and gray is the antithesis of the color palette that stirs me.

I gravitate toward the hot pinks and purples in the garden section. Every spring I tell myself I’ll try a more neutral theme for my hanging plants. Can’t do it.

Bright flowers rev my creative engines like a floral caffeine. Color caffeine. I take pictures when they’re at their peak so next January the hope for another spring, another summer ahead, will get me through another winter.

Ah. Snapshots of color for colorless seasons.

I write color-ing books. Not the kind that beg for Crayolas, but books that remind readers of the color that may be missing in their lives in a monochromatic season of grief or sadness or disillusionment or despair. I want to create pictures of the grace of God for seasons when my readers may not have seen a hint of it for a long stretch, through a dark tunnel that seems endless. Words can do that, can create photographs of hope that somewhere under the old snow lies a seed or bulb or rhizome itching to restore color to the scene.

“What is it you write?”

When asked that question, I hope I remember to answer, “Color-ing books.”

For writers: What thread of color can you trace through your stories? Hope? Redemption? Forgiveness? Reconciliation? Restoration?

For readers:Threads of deep scarlet are woven from the first to the last of the Bible. Entertwined threads of our need (”though your sins be as scarlet”) and God’s love expressed in the blood Jesus spilled for us. Even on the colorless days, can you catch a glimpse of that brilliant color?

I’m starting a campaign to change the term “false” labor–which sounds so demeaning, doesn’t it? As if the pregnant woman isn’t intelligent enough to recognize what she’s feeling is a forgery, a fake.

It may not be wholly productive and may not lead to the soon release of the baby from its cocoon, but can’t we find a prettier word than “false”? How about “practice” labor? Or “warm up” labor? Or “trial run”?

My precious mother is experiencing many trial runs as she awaits the release from her earth-life cocoon to be welcomed into the arms of her waiting Savior. I hold her hand and help her breathe through the “contractions.” Excitement builds for her as she nears the moment when He says, “It’s time. You can push. Let’s get you delivered.”

Day after day of trial runs tell her, “Not yet.”

We’re grateful for every moment we have with her and can’t imagine how we’ll bear the dual weight of grief and rejoicing without stumbling.

But it interests me anew today that the Lord promised in His Word that He never brings a laboring woman that far without delivery. Trial runs are always precursors to the real thing…in life and in death.

For writers: Where in your writing is the ministry to those in “false labor” in their relationships, their health struggles, their faith contractions? Do you address only those who are in “active labor”? And does it comfort your own heart that the practice runs that have brought you near publication have not been wasted–they’re getting you ready?

For readers: The Lord is the quintessential coach for the “false labor” moments of our lives. You can confidently get through them if you find your focal point (Him), hold tight to His Hand, and listen when He tells you, “Breathe like this.”

Some people approach faith as if it were a pool of unknown temperature. They hover at the edge of the pool, uncertain about getting in as far as the first step. As the water laps against their ankles, they acclimate before moving down another step into the calf-deep water. Then knee-deep.

And that’s as far as some ever go. “I’m fine here. You go on and have fun.”

Hugging themselves (lot of good that does) they shiver because their feet are in the water but their body is exposed to the air.

“Let me just get used to it,” they say. Some never do.

Their friends, exhausted from the fun, the splashing, the diving, are packing their things to go Home by the time the timid ones feel confident to go waist-deep, shoulder-deep, get their hair wet.

Let’s grab the faith-timid by the hand and urge them deeper. “Come on in. The water’s fine!”

For writers: Pushing from behind rarely is appreciated. In some ways, it’s rude, bully-like. How can our words more effectively “pull” with “strong cords of love,” as God says He does in His Word?

For readers: Have you been encouraged to dive deeper into your relationship with the Lord but have hesitated at the edge of the pool? Dive right in! Even if the water temp surprises you, you’ll find it infinitely soul-refreshing!

Some birds blend into the background. Sparrows. Wrens. Female cardinals.

But some always startle. Goldfinches. Indigo buntings. Baltimore Orioles. Male cardinals.

And bluebirds.

Driving through the midsummer Midwest countryside, a flash of that distinctive Microsoft blue flitted at the side of the road. In the ditch.

“What is the bluebird of happiness doing in a ditch?” I asked before I thought about the implications.

That’s where some people’s bluebirds of happiness hover.

My empathy quotient spiked. People all around me are trying to make it through life with their happiness factor flopping around in the weeds along the edge of the road.

That’s not where bluebirds are supposed to linger. They’re not ground-dwellers. And neither are we. We were created to soar.

For writers: No matter what genre you write, does it offer hope? Even if it explores the litter along the side of the road, is there a flash of hope?

For readers: I wonder if God would want to rewrite the “pursuit of happiness” portion of our country’s early documents. What if it read, “and the pursuit of holiness coupled with the pursuit of the happiness of others”? Now, wouldn’t that be an interesting quest? And wouldn’t that make it more likely we could stay airborne?

She poured her heart into the phone. “I’m no longer needed. By anyone. What’s the point of living anymore?”

Not needed? How could she think that? And how could she think her perception of unnecessary meant her life was disposable?

She’d applied for jobs and wasn’t hired. She’d volunteered and “run out” of places to help.

In this world? She’d run out of places to help?

Misperception. She’d served many over the years, and continued to; had given much, and continued to give. But she couldn’t “see” that her efforts meant anything to anyone.

How had she spent her week? She’d hired a couple of young men to tear down an old outbuilding, not because she needed it torn down but because the men needed work.

She’d put a check in the mail to a ministry because she’d felt moved to do so.

Only heaven knows how many people she’d blessed with slips and snips from her gardens. A word of encouragement here. A word there.

It takes faith to believe that our obedience to God’s call to bless others, however unnoticed by those around us and unimportant in our own eyes, is noticed by God. We believe we matter not because we feel as if we do or have seen evidence, but by faith in the God who SAID we matter to Him.

For writers: Have you silently measured your worth by royalties or lack of them? By reader mail? By awards and recognition? What if they all ceased? Does the world need your words or your obedience to His words?

For readers: Life has two seasons–when we’re overneeded and when we’re underneeded. Both seasons require the exercise of faith. It’s not evidence that tells us we matter, that our efforts are noticed. This is a job for faith.

John Mason wrote, “You were born an original. Don’t die a copy.”

Profound, isn’t it?

The memorable are not those who are “just like” somebody else, but those who stand out in significant, even if small ways.

An unsuccessful author is the one who wants to write exactly like John Grisham. We already have one of those. Don’t need a copy.

A successful author might write John Grisham-ish novels but from the perspective of the judge. Or the courtroom janitor.

Readers aren’t looking for another book “just like” The Secret Life of Bees. They’re looking for one that evokes the same emotions but in a different setting with different characters facing different conflicts.

The Lord isn’t looking for me to turn out “just like” my pastor’s wife or “just like” my best friend or “just like” Beth Moore. He hand-turned each of us. Hand-molded. Built each of us from scratch, not from a rubberized mold.

We share commonalities. But He created us uniquely…down to our very DNA, which when you think about it speaks volumes to the importance He places on our NOT being exactly like anyone else.

How much time do we waste trying to look like, sound like, write like, pray like someone else?

We were born originals. May we not end life a mere copy.

Except in one respect. My longing is that when life is over, people will call me a Jesus Copycat.

For writers: What is it about your writing that distinguishes it from that of your favorite authors, the ones you long to emulate? Is that distinguishing mark clear enough for readers and editors to find significant? Significantly wonderful?

For readers: New photocopiers pride themselves on making copies that are practically indistinguishable from the original. What in your life is growing closer to an exact duplicate of a character trait of Jesus? Your quickness to obey? Your compassion? Your giving spirit? Your surrender to the will of the Father? It’s something to think about.

It’s the little things that make us crazy–like getting a parking ticket after exiting the clinic where we were just told the chemo isn’t working.

Like the smudge on our slacks after having to change a tire in rush hour traffic and missing an important interview.

Like a mosquito in the tent on an otherwise great camp out. A mosquito with cousins who like to party.

It’s the little things that make us crazy…and the little things that stir our hearts.

Yesterday my pulse quickened over one small detail in the story of the Prodigal Son from the Bible. After he’d wasted the early inheritance he begged off his dad and fallen about as low as possible into life’s gutter, the prodigal returned home–guilt-ridden and repentant–in hopes of serving as one of his father’s hired men.

We know the father ran out to meet his boy. We know all about the party the father threw to welcome his son home. We know the dad acted with such overt love and forgiveness that he set a God-like standard for both.

But I got to wondering–as writers and Jesus followers often do–about a tiny detail.

The dad wrapped his coat around the boy. Why?

Theologians can speculate. Biblical historians have their theories. So do those with imaginations.

Maybe the boy was cold.

Maybe the coat was a sign of honor. As low as the slug of a son sank, still the father reached out to honor him by dressing him in the equivalent of a royal robe.

Maybe the dad used it to drive home the lesson that all he possessed belonged to the son, and always would. Maybe to prove his point, the dad solemnly removed his own coat and wrapped it around the fallen one.

Maybe the young man had lost such a totality of “everything” that he was practically naked, and the father covered him, covered his shame, with his own robe of righteousness.

Maybe all of the above.

What a picture of the Father’s love for us! Naked and poor and stupid and guilty and spent, we crawl toward Him. Not only does He run to meet us, He wraps us in honor, in forgiveness, in warmth, protection, His own robe of righteousness, a garment that marks us as His, one that tells us and the watching world that all He has is ours.

For writers: Have you made dumb mistakes in your writing? Have you sought honor prematurely or chased after wrong motives or lost sight of His purposes for you and come crawling back to the feet of the Author of your faith? You don’t have to wonder what His response will be. Feel it? His own robe of forgiveness and His whisper, “Welcome back. Let’s try that again.”

For readers: Ditto. Have you made dumb mistakes…? Have you felt the welcome weight of fabric over your shoulders? Have you heard His whispers? What seemingly small detail from God’s Word has stirred your heart lately? I’d love to hear about it.

The artistry of this photo appeals to my heart, but its draw is deeper than mere appreciation for the colors and light and composition. It moves me that the two flowerheads on thin stems are bent toward one another.

It speaks of a secret God embedded in His Creation and His creatures. If the individuals stand stick-straight, their symmetry might impress. But the picture tells a sweet story when they lean in, toward one another, toward Him.

For writers: When the writing gets tough, painful to pursue, when a scene is too close to the heart to write without peeling off the outer layers to reveal the raw truth about our characters and ourselves, lean in. Lean into the pain to write more authentically. Lean into the Lord to write with Hope.

For readers: Does something threaten to stiffen the stems of a relationship you share with a friend or family member? Lean in. See if it doesn’t make art of the scene.