The Victoria Advocate, A Different Perspective

As I eke out words for Book 4, I’m reminded of a quote. It helps when I’m not sure what scene to write next.

“Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” E. L. Doctorow

When I explained my problem to a group of regional writers at a Zoom meeting, they had excellent encouragement. They called my dilemma the Murky Middle, which accurately describes it. I’ve heard (but never experienced) the middle of a marathon, but runners often say it’s the hardest part. The zeal and excitement of getting started has worn off, and the exhilaration of finishing hasn’t kicked in yet. So yes, it feels like the middle of this novel will never end, but it will if I keep writing.

So I keep slogging along, throwing words on the page. I tend to “write short,” for novels, which means I barely hit the word count I’m shooting for, or I fall short, sometimes ten to fifteen thousand words. Other authors have the opposite problem. They “write long” and overshoot the acceptable word count, often by twenty to thirty thousand words. They have to cut scenes and subplots. My heart goes out to them, because I find it much easier to add in than omit what’s already written.

The highlight of the week was a trip to New Braunfels for a late Father’s Day celebration, since our daughter’s in-laws were visiting. We’ve become friends, so it’s always fun to take a day trip and visit. We cooked up a late lunch of tacos with all the fixings. Nan had made a couple of desserts with her eight-year-old, who loves to cook. I had a déjà vu moment, seeing a brief conversation between Ria and her mom as they discussed the desserts. What can go wrong with chocolate no-bakes and peach cobbler with ice cream?

Friends from Victoria also made the trip to check out some property. Since we attend the same church, I teased, saying we had to meet in a different city in order to visit. Nancy showed them their chicken coop—she’s added a little shed and a chicken run of sorts. The girls let the chickens out later but forgot to stay outside with them. Of course, the chickens broke off a lovely spire of Nan’s lavender. Best laid plans and all.

It was getting late, but the dads made time to go axe-throwing. It sounded quite macho. Sure enough, they enjoyed it.

On Sunday afternoon, I headed to the health club to exercise. While I was thinking of all the things that needed to go in my planner, (Can anyone else relate?) I noticed a black & white police vehicle farther down the road, so I slowed down. Apparently not enough, since the officer leisurely swung in behind me and turned on his lights. Worse yet, I was guilty. In those situations, I always pray like King David of old—he prayed he would fall into the hands of God rather than man. The officer was young and polite. I was nervous and one hundred percent certain I didn’t want a ticket. However, I was going eleven miles over the speed limit in a residential area.

I was uber-thankful to receive a warning, because, by rights, I deserved a ticket.

All that to say, do you really want what you deserve? I don’t. However, many people don’t understand God’s mercy. Because of Jesus’s sacrifice on our behalf, we don’t get what we deserve; we get grace. Life isn’t fair. Only God is fair, and He’s the one who decided Jesus’s death would cover our guilt. All one has to do is accept it as a gift.

I’ll take His grace instead of what I deserve every single time.