UPDATE ON MRS. JOB

This is sort of an afterthought. I tried to attach it to the "Riding in the Back Seat" blog, but my skills are lacking, and this photo kept showing up where it shouldn't be in that blog.

Just for a quick catch-you-up. She's doing pretty well locally. I've been told of book groups that have chosen her, and Bible study groups that are going to study her. I certainly don't need to tell you how exciting that is for me.

I've also had word from folks around the country who are recommending her to friends. Now, that's really exciting!

What I don't know is how she's doing out there in cyberspace. I guess I have to wait another month to get that information.

And here's some neat stuff I've been sharing with people as I follow up on press releases iUniverse has sent out:

I've been receiving some very positive responses as, for example, this one from David Burrell, Professor of Ethics, Notre Dame University and Uganda Martyrs University: "A lovely book: and a brilliant ploy - to contrast her relation to her friends with that of Job with his! Says something, perhaps, about women friends, no? Not always, I realize, of course, but here it so deftly fleshes out the story. At the beginning, I was worried, for the initial pages seem 'over-written,' in the sense that 'adjectives piled up can weaken the noun.' But, when you hit your narrative stride, all that evaporated. Thank you for such a lovely rendition."

Or this, from Pastor Brenda Legred of Mount Calvary Lutheran Church in Excelsior, Minnesota: "I just finished Mrs. Job and loved it! The dialogue is so real and so beautiful. The depth of relationships is profound. Thank you for gifting this book to the world."

And Sandy Rothschiller's original response, shortened later to fit the blurb on the back cover. "I don't just like this book. I love it. I could hardly wait to get back to the beautifully drawn, timeless characters. Dora is my friend. I know her. I am her. Even as I felt Dara's struggles, her sadness, and her joy, I relived the color, feel, and smell of the desert as I experienced it when I lived there. The life of the Edomites, so well-researched, is impressive as is the Biblical insight, so much more accurate than many books of this genre and so informed by the author's deep spirituality. More than that, this is the gripping story of a woman's love for her husband as they share great blessings and terrible trials. Placed in ancient times, yet it is today's love story. Reverend Sandy Rothschiller, ELCA Pastor and theologian.

These reactions to Mrs. Job do, of course, delight me, and, to tell the truth, I'm happy to be consumed by "Mrs. Job" and "Riding in the Back Seat" because, if I didn't have my mind thus occupied, it would be too easy to get depressed about all the negative stuff that's going on in the world.

RIDING IN THE BACK SEAT

This is not the photo of a tragedy, but our Doug and Lisa in 1963, riding in the back seat of our '61 Chevy impala en route to our cabin in Vermont.

I couldn't decide which of my many projects to focus on here, so I chose the easy way -- just letting you in on what I'm working on. This photo is, in my imagination, the cover for "Riding in the Back Seat" which currently is just a thought on the tip of my brain and the edge of my typing fingers. Being very brave and lazy all at the same time, here it is. I'd much rather have the critiques at this point rather than later.

RIDING IN THE BACK SEAT

I’m riding in the back seat, but no one is driving the car. How is it there has been no fatal impact? Other vehicles scream by; fences bend as they barely avoid being hit; trees blow aside in panic; people fly about like cartoon characters. I’m glued to the right rear seat. No matter how hard I struggle I can’t make my arm reach far enough to push down on the brake in the front. In fact, I can’t move it at all. Nor can I move my body into the front seat to take over the steering wheel and apply the brake. I save myself by waking up.

As bad as it is losing control of the car, it’s even worse on other occasions when I see it from outside bursting into bright red flames. I save myself by waking up.

I did wake up. Those dreams are emotion-free memories now, as are those of octagonal rooms filled with ancient debris. Over time I cleaned them out and created a bright, white, sun-lit, fragrantly airy space for myself. Even the dreams of a royal octagonal table standing atop long legs under which is rushing a brown, fetid stream are gone. The water was purified. The dream was no longer needed.

Most of us, I believe, have ridden in the back seat of a driverless car, eventually recovering to take over the direction of our own lives. Some of us have endured the passionate, fiery explosion of the vehicle that carries us through life. Many of us, I think, have discovered the bright new parts of ourselves after cleaning out the old, untended debris in our hidden rooms, or removed the personal pollution that contaminates our life energy.

What I plan to say, however, is much less dreamlike. Besides being a psychologist who dreams, I am in many ways a walking history book. Some of you may find some glimmers of your own history in the stories I tell here. For now, let’s get back to riding in the back seat.

My first back-seat memory probably occurred when I was about 8 years old, or maybe I was 4. The fact is, memory is extremely fragile. Maybe it didn’t happen at all, and probably it didn’t happen the way I think. My father was, of course, driving, and we had been someplace fun. I assume there was an older sibling in the front passenger seat. In fact, both my big brother and my big sister might have been sitting in front, because there was room for three grown-ups in that seat before the drive shaft raised a bump in the middle.

I’m willing to bet that my friend Hallie was in the back with me, because most of the time fun things were shared with her. I was kneeling on the back seat, looking out the rear window when my father had to stop quickly and I was thrown back against the front seat. I knew my back was broken. Fortunately what we “know” is often wrong, as it was then. But I recall being very worried – I think we all were – about getting home and telling my mother what had happened.

Kneeling in the back seat? No seat belts? How could my father have allowed such careless behavior?! I was about four (or maybe eight) years old, remember? Some twenty-or-so years later, in 1956, I was involved as a Graduate Assistant in a weekend working retreat at Osgood Hill. At lunch at the retreat I sat next to a man who had done research on those relatively new car safety aids -- seat belts that fastened across the lap. He was convinced by the data that they saved lives. The general public was still pretty resistant. But he convinced me.

Still, in March, 1958, in a blizzard, as Lou drove me home from the hospital with our newborn Douglas wrapped up in my arms, there was no thought of a secure seat for him. I’m pretty sure no one yet had thoughts of marketing such a protective contraption for newborns. On later trips, though, we did enjoy the convenience of Doug’s car bed, which hung precariously behind us, slung over the front seat by a couple of hangers. (By the way, his crib at home wouldn’t meet today’s required narrow space between slats.) As Doug developed enough to sit up by himself, I remember driving with him sitting next to me in his car seat – just that, a little seat hanging by a couple of hooks over the back of the front seat. Some twenty-two months later, Lisa inherited those comforts.

Lisa remembers seeing, when she was older, seat belts hanging in our garage, to be installed if we chose to do it. Somehow, we did have seatbelts in our ’61 Chevy Impala. They can be seen in the cover photo of those two patient travelers putting up with the long trip to Vermont. They learned early on that the best way to put up with such tedium was to play for a while with the toys that were currently in favor, and then drop off to sleep.

It’s probably clear by now that riding in the car is my metaphor of choice for the joys, hazards, and responsibilities of varying degrees of control over our/my life’s direction. I hope you’ll experience little bolts of memory as you read my snippets. I’ve chosen to make them little fragments so you can pick and choose as you make your way through them. Besides, to be honest, that’s the way they come back to me in the middle of the night – or even while I’m driving/riding in the car.

Sympathy For Theater Folks

I always did sympathize with theater folks, but now I really empathize. Imagine spending months creating and rehearsing a show, with the nervous anticipation of opening night, only to have it panned and closed down in a couple of weeks. What solid personalities it must take to survive that attack on one's creativity and self-esteem. Oh sure, it's really bad for the pocketbook as well, but imagine the takedown as your own creative blood, sweat, tears, and anticipation are dumped (and dumped on).

I guess it takes the same kind of personal strength to be a successful politician. The public, like theater audiences, feel perfectly free to attack with destructive words. I really wonder, in a very personal sense, what it takes to keep on.

Or, on a more life-threatening level, what does it take to be Morris Deese of the Southern Poverty Law Center and have your life constantly threatened because of your dedicated fight against hate and the crimes that attach to it. In fact, I also admire the strength of the people who work to protect women's health at Planned Parenthood. And I know I haven't listed everyone, but I hope you get the idea.

So, why the empathy? Well, here's the story. Several people (I swear it's more than 7) have told me they ordered Mrs. Job on line. And when I follow the ranking for Mrs. Job at barnesandnoble.com, her numbers look a heck of a lot better than my forgiveness books, which pretty much hold up the bottom of the scale. But when I called iUniverse, I was told that a total of 7 books had been sold between amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, and orders from bookstores. The downer didn't last too long, maybe because Mrs. Job isn't my whole life, but I did get cranky and depressed for a few days. Then I decided that maybe sales records get delayed. I still also keep checking amazon.com for reviews people have told me they would write. Oh, is that using hope as a cure?

Whatever, I have really come to appreciate people who live with this kind of exposure to negative responses to their work.

I guess my better mood now can also be attributed to the fact that I think I have pretty much mastered my new Palm/Verizon phone. Whew! And the emergencies that came up with my billing program, costing a couple of hours of telephone time, and other computer related problems, have been resolved -- at least for the moment.

So now I'm free to do other stuff, like write this blog, and follow up on the 186 press releases sent out by iUniverse re Mrs. Job. I also plan today to check on the possibility of getting a tote bag with a photo of Mrs. Job's cover on it. I've already updated my brochures. I read somewhere that a best-selling author, on being asked what it takes to be a best-selling author, responded, "You have to be the best seller."

Thanks for listening.

Author's postpartum depression?

I diagnosed it last Thursday when I returned from my early morning visit to Curves, ate breakfast, and went back to bed. Fortunately I remembered I had a client coming, so I was showered and dressed in time to see her. So, is there such a thing as author's postpartum depression?

I guess publishing a book, apparently especially a book of fiction, is like giving birth to a child. You just want everyone to tell you it's the most beautiful baby that was ever born -- well, at least among the most beautiful. And the truth is, she has received some really nice complements. Take what Pastor Brenda Legred had to say, for example. I quote, with her permission, "I just finished Mrs. Job and loved it! The dialogue is so real and so beautiful. The depth of relationships is profound. Thank you for gifting this book to the world!" And she didn't have to send me that e-mail. I have to admit, though, that she is herself a walking halo.

But then there's the woman who planned to refer to Mrs. Job, even read some parts from it, when she did devotions at a friend's shower. She actually requested some to take along to sell to others. Or there's the friend who bought five copies to give for gifts and took some along to sell. So, that's pretty good, right? And I had a really good time at a book sale as part of a program at Shepherd of the Hill Presbyterian Church up the hill from me here in Chaska. And some books even sold. So, why am I so greedy?

People ask me how sales are going, and I have to answer that I don't know. Locally Mrs. Job is certainly not being rejected, and I guess I won't know about the rest of the world until I get a quarterly statement in April. And I hope people will catch on that Mrs. Job is a good read -- not a religious document. And I certainly won't sell a lot if I don't get on with the marketing. But I hope my royalty check is a little larger than the $1.69 I received recently for "Forgiving One Page at a Time."

Ah, marketing! iUniverse has sent out 186 press releases to media sources. Now I'm supposed to follow up with phone calls. Ooh! That does feel overwhelming. Not that I haven't done anything about it. The publishers of my forgiveness books have agreed that they will send copies to media sources if requested, so now it's my job to make sure I mention them as well as Mrs. Job when I make those calls.

How did I get here anyway? I'm a college professor, a therapist. How did I get into this author business? But that's what makes life so delightful, isn't it. We just don't know where our callings will lead us. And I am having fun.

But tomorrow I'm off to enjoy my son and my granddaughter, music of the Minnetonka Choral Society, dinner out, and a trip to St. Olaf to return KJ to school after her Spring break with her mom and dad.

Life is good. I have my work cut out for me. I doubt that I'll be heading for bed again during the day. But I will go for afternoon naps on my black leather couch.

Thanks for listening/reading... I'll keep you posted.

Mona

I'm really doubtful that what I say today will be interesting to most of you. Mostly it's about frustration with Facebook and trying very hard to market Mrs. Job, but there is also the hope for progress with the Chaska Restorative Practices Action Group.

What about facebook? Well, apparently in transferring from Tiger to Leopard on my Mac I've created a problem that the automated facebook creature out there simply can't deal with. When I try to log on, it tells me I've got the wrong password, so I click on "get a new password." Then it tells me my e-mail isn't registered, so I try to register it, and it tells me I can't do that because I'm already registered. With the help of my Mac guru, I've tried all kinds of things. If I want to keep my old computer around just for the sake of facebook, then I could get by. But for obvious reasons I don't want to do that.  I'm still hoping for a solution. I do not like to be trapped in a catch-22.

And about marketing Mrs. Job. I've done lots of things, but didn't get to others yet, like visiting the local bookstores to ask about book signings. 

Pastor Gordon Stewart of Shepherd of the Hill Presbyterian Church up the hill from me here in Chaska has scheduled a book signing for March 20 for me, along with Dr. Jan Adams of Maria's Children International who will tell the story of the woman in Moscow whose curiosity about the children in Orphanage #113 led to the arts rehabilitation program for warehoused children left by the roadside as useless to society. The wonderful paintings of Maria's Children now line the walls of Shepherd of the Hill and will be there for viewing and for purchase. I think I'll be with inspiring company.

I've done some really bold things, like e-mailing Krista Tippett of MPR in the hope she might be interested in an interview, offering to do a book signing while on the Baltic cruise this summer with Holland America Line, sending a copy of Mrs. Job to a theologian who has written a book on why the Book of Job tells us nothing about the problem of suffering, and stuff like that.  Not surprisingly I've received no responses, but the worst that can happen is no response. I had intended to send a copy to Garrison Keillor, and I will in the future, but right now I don't want to intrude on his grief over the accidental death of his brother.

Just a few minutes ago I received the copy of the book I discovered on Amazon.com, "Meet Mrs. Job" by Carolyn L. Reynolds. I guess I'll have to forgive myself for not finding it earlier, since it was published in 2003. Glancing at it, I see she was on the same wavelength as I am. I'll write a review on Amazon.com. At least I can give it that appreciation.

As for the Chaska Restorative Practices Action Group, I feel like a very small part of a very ambitious project beginning in November with an all-day workshop. The ultimate goal is to bring restorative practices to our community. What a wonderful alternative to the expensive punitive procedures our society seems to be so enamored with now.

Finally, for any of you who get wrapped up in computer-related stuff, I hope you can sympathize with all it takes to bring my records into sync with the new formats required. The most fun, though, is my birthday present which I had requested last year from Doug and Lisa. It wasn't available for the Mac until recently, but now I have it. That's why I went from Tiger to Leopard, 'cause my new toy demands it. It's a Livescribe Pulse Pen -- really fun. As I take notes on the appropriate paper it also records the meeting. Then, when I go back to write the minutes. I can tap on particular words and it plays back to me what was said. I used it on Tuesday at our JustFaith+ meeting at Mount Calvary Lutheran Church. The minutes I managed to put together using it are probably the most complete I've yet come up with.

OK. At least I didn't neglect my blog today. 

Oh yes, I wish I knew who Mary is who has made such kind comments

Mrs. Job makes her debut

She's looking good -- in both hard cover and soft cover. She's now available on

http://www.amazon.com

http://www.barnesandnoble.com

http://www.iUniverse.com

She should be coming up soon on Border's books.

or at your bookstore.

I like her a lot.  I hope you will too. If you do, it would be great if you would write a review on amazon.com, or one of the other sites.

My cousin Eunice died on January 31

Eunice died on January 31. 2009  in Bethlehem, PA. Her children notified me by e-mail. I had met one of her daughters, but her other children were known to my only by her reports. I last saw Eunice a few years ago when I attended a restorative practices weekend in Bethlehem. (For some stupid reason it took me a while to catch on to the reason why everyone called it the Christmas town.) She treated me like royalty, hiring someone to drive me into the city each day from her home. We had a great time together. Funny how little difference years make, and it had been years since we saw each other. 

Eunie was tethered to oxygen in her front hall, but it didn't slow her down much. She even had a tidy carrying case so she could take her oxygen with her when she went out. At bedtime she carried the "tether" up to her bedroom. Every morning she spent time on her stationary bike before heading downstairs. There she spent the day in a sunny bright room that had been added on to the original house. Her office/home base was a table provided with everything she needed to stay in communication with people and to do her work for her Lutheran church. She did have a helper who shopped, cleaned, and cooked for her. (At least, that's my understanding of how things were.)

Eunie's red hair and freckles never disappeared, advertising the Irish side of her heritage. To me, she was my younger cousin, but not by much. Back in Forestville we enjoyed a large Anderson family -- playing pick-up-sticks at Aunt Gerda and Uncle Everett's -- enjoying weekend camping with them at Hammonasett State Park (my spelling may be wrong) -- getting special treatment at church when missionaries came and dressed us up in native costume -- helping to fill the home of Grandma and Grandpa Anderson at Christmas time. Grandma knit each of her grandchildren a pair of mittens every year, and each of her children had a lovely quilt made by her own hands. We played with my neighbor and best friend Hallie who predeceased Eunice by several years. But Forestville sent its people out far and wide, so at one point there were twenty-five years between times that Eunie and I saw each other. I surprised my self with the burst of tears when I heard she had died.

There weren't many people for me to notify when I got the news: my sister Thelma, My cousin Joy, my niece Nancy, and Hallie's widower, Murph. And there is Eunie's big brother in Florida to whom I wrote a sympathy note. We/I used to be part of a big family. I tell people that, being the youngest of the youngest, most of my cousins were old enough to be my parents, and they are long gone.  Actually, I am the youngest of the youngest on the Gustafson side, but Eunie and her mother were the youngest on the Anderson side. This is not a sad story. I'm so happy to have been part of that bunch of Swedish Lutherans. Maybe there is other nourishment that's better, but the strength of a large caring group of relatives certainly ranks high.

Eunie did believe she would be joining her husband and all her family and friends. I hope she's having a wonderful reunion, free of the need for the oxygen tether.