Changes in CWD Team

We interrupt our normal programming to make an important announcement.

Life is full of change and this year there will be some changes in the Christian Downunder Admin team, with some new faces and the absence of some old ones.

Thank you for your contributions

Anusha Atukorala has faithfully ministered as part of the CWD Admin team for five years now. She was a welcoming face when I joined the team and a great support when three years ago Nola handed me the baton as coordinator.

You may have noticed that Anusha faithfully posts the links to the CWD blog each Monday and Thursday without fail and with an encouraging comment. When required, she also chooses and posts our blasts from the past, revisiting great posts that are still relevant and inspirational.

Behind the scenes, I've been grateful of Anusha's wisdom and encouragement and prayers.  I'm inspired by her unwavering gratitude and faith in God and her gentle and kind spirit despite the challenges she often faces.

Over the last few months, Anusha has felt the Spirit calling her out from  CWD Admin after five years – and she is looking forward to being an active member of CWD without the admin role.

She says,

"God has been wooing me to more intimacy with Him over the past 20 years. It has been a wonderful, thrilling, challenging, blessed journey with Him. He continues to call me to a deeper walk with Him, to love Him more, to love and encourage others and to shine His love and light in a dark world. I am being intentional in not having a busy life – instead doing only what God asks me to do. A huge challenge in this world where being busy seems to be equated to success especially for writers in the 21st century world. 

I have discovered that LOVE is what life is all about. Not always easy to practice – but how thrilling love of God who woos us and lavishes His love on us. I'm grateful to God for CWD and the gifted, amazing writers in it for their support and encouragement in my writing journey." 

Ansuha will still be with us, blogging and as an active and valuable member of CWD.

Anusha Atukorala

Anusha has been on many interesting detours in life, as a lab technician, a computer programmer, a full time Mum, a full time volunteer, a charity director, a full time job chaser, until one golden day (or was it a dark moonless night?) God tapped her on her shoulder and called her to write for Him. She has never recovered from the joy it brought her. She loves to see others enjoying life with Jesus and does her mite to hurry the process in her world through her writing and through her life.

The goodness of God is her theme song through each season, as she dances in the rain with Jesus. She blogs fortnightly at her website Dancing in the Rain sharing God-thoughts and life lessons. Her first book Enjoying the Journey contains 75 God stories that will bring you closer to your Creator. Her second book Dancing in the Rain was released in March 2018 and brings you hope and comfort for life’s tough seasons. She lives in Adelaide with her husband Shan and their son Asela.




I'm also grateful for Paula Vince who will be continuing on in her role on the CWD Admin team. Paula has faithfully reviewed applications of those wanting to join CWD and welcoming new members. She, like Anusha, has been ready to step in the breach when needed, I've appreciated her gentleness and  wisdom when decisions have been required.




Paula Vince is a South Australian author of contemporary, inspirational fiction. She lives in the beautiful Adelaide Hills, with its four distinct seasons, and loves to use her environment as settings for her stories. Her novel, 'Picking up the Pieces' won the religious fiction section of the International Book Awards in 2011, and 'Best Forgotten' was winner of the CALEB prize the same year. She is also one of the four authors of 'The Greenfield Legacy', Australia's first and only collaborated Christian novel. Her most recent novel, 'Imogen's Chance' was published April 2014. For more of Paula's reflections, you may like to visit her book review blog, The Vince Review.

Some new faces

As sad as Paula and I are to see Anusha leave the Admin team, we are excited to welcome a new member - Mazzy Adams.

Who is Mazzy Adams?

Mazzy Adams (Cathie Sercombe) is an Australian wife, mother, grandmother, creative and academic writing tutor, and published author with a passion for words, pictures and the positive potential in people. Her poetry, creative non-fiction, short fiction, and spiritual devotions have been published in Australian, US and international print and on-line anthologies. She’s preparing her New Adult Thriller novel, Licence to Die, for Indie publication in the near future. 

Mazzy (Cathie) has an Assoc. Degree in Arts (Creative Writing) from Tabor Adelaide, S.A. and a Cert IV Christian Ministry from World Changers College of Ministry. She lives in Queensland with her beloved husband, and manages their education consultancy business.

Mazzy has been a regular contributor to the Christian Writers Downunder blog for some years. She’s also a member of Omega Writers, Queensland Writers Centre and various Australian online writers' groups. She is most especially delighted, humbled and proud to be one of Toowoomba’s famous (or infamous) Quirky Quills.

Website: www.mazzyadams.com Email: maz@mazzyadams.com

Manage
Welcome to the team, Mazzy



The CWD Admin are also considering adding one or two more people to the admin team over the next few months.

Christian Writers Downunder has now over a thousand members, and we appreciate your contributions and the way you interact and encourage each other.  Our thanks also go to Nola Passmore, who ably lead CWD from 2014-2015, and the original founder of CWD, Lee Franklin.

As Nola said in her 2016 post:

I’ve learned such a lot in the last two years and it’s been a privilege to play a small part in facilitating a group involving such a wonderful bunch of writers, editors, illustrators, publishers and readers.

One of the things we did during my watch was to develop a mission statement for the group. We decided that the main aims of the group were to:

• Glorify God in our writing
• Develop our God-given creative gifts
• Encourage other Christian writers and those in related fields

You can read a longer post about those aims here.

The Admin team are also grateful to the blog team who take time out of full lives and busy schedules to write blogs to encourage and inspire us. And for all the CWD members who take time to respond to fellow CWDers questions, encourage when encouragement is needed, or to participate in Share Wednesday, and to share, recommend, and support fellow writers, editors or illustrators.

Please pause a moment to thank Anusha and welcome Mazzy to the CWD Admin team.

Jeanette O'Hagan, coordinator of Christian Writers Downunder

Jeanette started spinning tales in the world of Nardva at the age of eight or nine. She enjoys writing secondary world fiction, poetry, blogging and editing. Her Nardvan stories span continents, time and cultures. They involve a mixture of courtly intrigue, adventure, romance and/or shapeshifters and magic users.

She has published numerous short stories, poems, two novellas and her debut novel, Akrad's Children and Ruhanna's Flight and other stories.

Her latest release, Stone of the Sea (the third novella) is now available. .

You can also find her on:

Facebook |Jeanette O'Hagan Writes | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

Lest We Forget

    

     They came for us at 1 am. 

    A hot meal and drink were waiting. I ate and drank the food and it sat, like lead in my stomach. When we were finished, everyone dressed in silence and I kept thinking about that meal and wondering if it was my last. What made me lie about my age? My thoughts drifted to home. What was mum doing right now? Did they miss me? I could picture my younger sister collecting eggs, could almost hear the hiss of the fire as dad stoked it ready for breakfast.

    I want to go home.

    I wasn't alone. No one spoke. Orders were given in whispers in case the enemy, only a few miles away, were forewarned about our arrival.

    My hand shook as I stowed my great coat into a pack. I rolled the sleeves of my tunic up to the elbow. I saw the whiteness of Jimmy's arm and realised it was so our own men could identify us in the dawn light.

    The occasional curse was muttered as we made our way down ladders and into boats. The air was so still, with hardly a breath of wind. Most of the space in our small boats was taken up with boxes of ammunition, water and rations. I watched as Jimmy passed shovels and wire cutters to the men in the other boat.

    At 3.30 am we set off. The remaining men stood on deck and took their caps off, circling their arms above their heads in a silent wave. I could feel icy tentacles slide down my spine. I clamped my jaw shut to stop my teeth from chattering. Fear rose and no matter how hard I tried, the silence and pitch black night seemed to taunt me. From the look on Jimmy's face he felt the same.

    I think it took 30-45 minutes for us to reach shore. My feet were numb from being crammed beside a box, and my shirt was damp from mist. The first glow of dawn started to brighten the sky. Rising from behind the hills the sun was the colour of lemons growing on our tree at home.  

    We weren't even off the boats when the first popping noises were heard. Someone yelled for us to get to the trenches. The flashes of rifle fire reminded me of fireworks. I saw Jimmy jump out of the boat, and land in water up to his chest. One minute he was standing there, the next he was floating face down. A pool of blood darkened the water around him.  

    We'd been mates since we were little, Jimmy and me. I couldn't just leave him there. Not like that. I half slid out of the boat and grabbed him by one arm. I tried to drag him onto the beach, but he was too heavy. I felt a sharp pain, like someone had elbowed me in the side and fell over. I could hear screams and gunfire and someone yelling for us to keep going.

    I tried to stand but couldn't. My legs didn't work. I'm cold and tired. So tired. There are dozens of men floating around me. Smithy and Colin…and Jimmy. I can feel the water closing over me. 

    I want to go home. 

_________________________________________________

Lee Franklin lives in WA on a property with her hero husband, amazing son and sweet sister-in-law. Oh, and a myriad of animals. She encourages everyone to attend their local dawn service, and show those who fight for our freedom the respect they deserve so much.

Characters not caricatures.

When writing a novel a writer should create living people, people not characters.

A character is a caricature.

Ernest Hemingway.

 

Last week my sister in law borrowed two DVD's from the library. I hadn't seen either of these movies before, but the first was an incredibly popular film in the 70's.

 

I'd often seen it on the library shelves but had never picked it up, simply because I had tried reading the book and found it oh so boring.

It was titled Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. Most of you will remember this title from John Le Carre, who also authored The Constant Gardener.

 

I found myself not only enjoying the movie, but drawn to the characters. Told in flashback form, it was a story of betrayal, murder and greed.

 

The second movie was called The Debt and starred Helen Mirren. Another movie written about spies and everything that goes with it. Because it starred Helen Mirren, I saved it to  last. There's something about Mirren that I find compelling. She brings her own style and influence into every role.

 

In this particular instance, I was quite let down. Don't get me wrong, the performances were good, very much so, but the story itself, for me, was unbelievable.

 

Mirren's character, one of three Mossad spies who embark on capturing a sadistic doctor responsible for the death of thousands of Jews, is bland and unappetising. I couldn't reconcile my thoughts of spies, Mossad spies at that, being so…emotional. Surely spies should unemotional, bent on getting the job done at all costs?

 

In every book I've read, or every movie I've watched, the characters which draw me in and hold me long after the end are the ones steeped in reality. They share similar traits with us, which help us identify with them.

What makes characters such as spies or serial killers chilling is their charm. We can easily imagine them committing atrocities simply because we can picture them, and their quirks, as our neighbour, odd relative, or dare I say…close friend? After all, how well do we really know someone?

 

Caring enough about your characters to study the intricacies associated with their lives, or learning more about what makes them tick, is how you'll find readers falling helplessly head-over-heels in love with them, and you.

 

In John Le Carre's interview he said, "Stories are the ultimate escape: the fictional world is the one in which you really want to live”.

 

If this is the world our readers want, then it's up to us to make it as real as possible for them.

 

 

What lengths would you go to so your characters become people?


                          _______________________

Lee Franklin lives in a small country town, where every one of her neighbours could possibly be a serial killer, either in real life or in her imagination. It's a good thing she doesn't mind things that go bump in the night, but it does help to have three dogs guarding you...just in case.

Dear God...

 

 

Another year has almost gone. It's awfully hot here, the dogs and I are sitting inside while the guys have gone to help someone whose car broke down.  I keep hearing the song 'Yesterday' playing in my head. You know that one the Beatles had a hit with?

That's exactly what the past year has felt like, snapshots of yesterday. Does that make sense? Let me explain.

 

Wasn't it only yesterday that Pierce turned eleven and started school for the first time? I'm sure it was. We introduced him to his teacher on that hot summer day, gave him a hug and walked away leaving him to the care of others. Lord, it hurt to do so. My boy looks so little…yet I see glimpses of the man he is to become, and I'm thankful. Sad, but thankful.

 

Summer was still with us when our dog was hit by a car and her pelvis was smashed. Who knew vets could be that expensive? But you'd never know, now, to look at her that she'd been hurt. You guided the surgeon's hands as only You can.

 

Then, surely it wasn't long ago that Narelle Nettelbeck and her family were visiting us, and our pet cow, Babette, died? I know it wasn't long ago, but there is her baby running around in the paddock, nearly grown. Thank you, Lord, she is so cute and the spitting image of her mother.

 

And wasn't it a few moments ago that George was diagnosed with an incurable illness, that will eventually steal him from us? I'm so grateful for the time we've had and the time we will have. Even if still doesn't hang up his clothes! You gave me the greatest gift by sending him into my life.

 

The tenth of June was a day we won't forget, but it, too, seems like yesterday. The tornado that hit our home took almost everything from us. Darkness filled our minds and hearts but from the devastation You showed that people cared. People we didn't know prayed, and sent us gifts and thoughts that tugged and pulled us toward You. We were humbled.

 

Wasn't it only a moment ago that we walked past our house filled with water and slime, and saw a wild duck having a bath on our lounge room floor? We opened the door and asked it to leave. The poor duck was not amused and walked passed us quacking in disgust. I guess he was right; he couldn't do any more damage than had already been done. But, really, a duck?  Your sense of humour couldn't have been more apparent. Thank you.

 

The day Pierce came straight from school to swimming with legs and arms covered in bruises is a day I would rather forget. My son being bullied because he was too polite was heart breaking. You took hold of that incident and used it for good. His headmaster was amazing and we're thankful for him.

 

Winter had passed and spring was here when George's sister came to live with us. People questioned our decision and thought we were crazy, but she's been such a blessing. I can't believe it's been three months already. Pierce loves having his aunt here to do things with and look after when they go out together. She even brought dippy dog, aka, Gaylord with her. His original name was Pierre. Pierce and Pierre. Two boys who go wild and love to run.

 

Just when my heart was mending, it broke all over again. I listened as my sister cried and said my nephew was diagnosed with early onset dementia. He's only fourteen. How could this happen? Wasn't it yesterday I stood as his godmother promising to look after him? Lord, help me to understand.

 

It's still hot here, Lord, and my friend, Chris, is in hospital and not expected to see the new year. Can You hold her hand please? Whisper in her ear how much she's loved by all of us. It's so sad to say goodbye. But, I know, You'll be there to hold her hand.

 

Can you hold mine please? Give me grace to see the new year in, help me to be a blessing to someone, and, Lord, please just be there to hold me up when I can't do it myself.

 

Thank you.

 

You're loving daughter,

 

Lee

__________________________________________________________________

 

 

The Franklin Family wishes you all a wonderful New Year!

___________________________________________________________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don't you hate conflict?

No one likes conflict, except, of course when it’s in a novel. Then those very things that make our stomach churn or head ache, can draw us in and take us to another world.

As we know each story should have Goal, Motivation and Conflict.

In its simplest forms, conflict is whatever stops our characters from achieving their goals. It doesn’t matter if it’s people, emotional issues, events or things, as long as it stops them from attaining that goal – then it’s a conflict.

In my story, I am Slayer, my heroine saves the lives of Christians. This is her goal. Her motivation? This is a calling, given to generations of her family, by God. The conflict comes from demons in the shape of vampires, and other evil creatures, which try and stop her.

Sounds easy doesn’t it? Well, to a certain extent it is. I’ve just outlined the book’s premise and shown you external, or physical, conflict.

Here’s the more difficult part. In order for Anastasia to become real to my readers, she needs to have internal, or emotional, conflict.

So what could internal, or emotional, conflict be? 

It needs to be something which can be sustained throughout the book. It also has to be something that comes from within the character. 

In my opening chapter, Anastasia searches for a group of Christians hiding in a bunker. She has to get there, and get them back to sanctuary before The Others find them. An external conflict arises, an argument, and they don’t escape in time. In the ensuing battle, she loses one of her charges, a little boy. He’s dragged off to parts unknown by The Others. Anastasia is devastated. Her confidence has taken a battering, and she is now scared to get close to anyone else. She doubts her ability to fulfil her calling. And this affects her decisions for the rest of the book.

Some may think that the internal conflict would be the argument Anastasia had, but it's not. Anything that could be solved with a few well-placed words, doesn't come under that category.

Internal conflicts come from our emotions; so feelings of abandonment, deep distrust of authority figures, a desperate need to fit in; these perceptions shape us and make us who we are. It’s the same with our characters.

Don’t be afraid to dig deep and find out what really makes your characters tick. What the driving force behind their behaviour is. That way you’ll not only make them more believable, you’ll add a depth to your characters that your readers will love.

Here’s an excerpt from I Am Slayer.

Donatella Sabatini was Lucien’s personal handmaid. She had delusional thoughts that Lucien loved her and would protect her from anything. Stupid girl. She irritated me on more than one level.

 ‘Still a servant, Donatella?’ I shook my head, knowing it would annoy her. ‘I have a pair of boots that need cleaning if you’re not busy.’

A low, ugly sound ripped from her throat. She advanced toward me but Lucien held up his hand for her to stop. Like him, she was dressed in ‘ye olde London style.’ 

On anyone else her dress might have been romantic, but the red and black bustier, full skirt and white puffy sleeves reminded me of a black widow spider.  

How apropos. 

‘Now, now, Anastasia,’ said Lucien. ‘Don’t be like that. You have something I want.’ He took two steps forward and plucked at the fingers of a white glove. ‘And I…’ He grinned and my blood chilled. ‘…have something you want. Perhaps we can trade?’

He snapped his fingers again, and the men behind him parted. 

A guard came forward; his bulging arms gripped a struggling figure. My heart plummeted, bile burned my throat, and I swallowed hard. The scene began to fade, and I struggled to clear my head. 

This couldn’t be happening. I kept my gaze neutral, uninterested, even as a silent scream echoed through my mind.

Billy.

Lee Franklin lives on a small property in Western Australia, along with her husband, son, dogs and cows. She loves all things girly, suspense, pink (the colour not the singer), cold grey skies and the smell of rain. 

Scintillate, Scintillate...

Scintillate, scintillate, globule vivific,

Fain would I fathom thy nature specific

Loftily poised in the ether capacious

Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous!

My son is learning to play the violin, and this week the song of choice is the one written above.

As I listened to the tentative first few notes, the squeaking of a misplaced bow across the strings, I was reminded of my own initial attempts at writing.

The first few times my fingers were hesitant, my thoughts disjointed. Nothing seemed to fit. The words that at times could flow so easily seemed to have evaporated like mist in the morning sun. I worried and fretted. Could God really have asked me to write; knowing my limitations, my lack of writing education?

My son queried me this week on the same issues. As we drove to his first lesson, he voiced the same fears. What if I'm not good enough? What if, even after I practice and learn and listen, I still can't do it? I listened to his pleas and was instantly transported back to my first critique.

I had sent my precious story to my writing group for their comments. Each day I waited for their response. Would they like my story, even a little bit? Would they make the requisite 'nice' comments so my feelings wouldn't be hurt, or would they tear it apart and announce my writing would  never measure up to the world's standards.

You can imagine my mixed feelings when my story came back. I shook as my finger clicked on the email and it opened to reveal...they did like it. They actually liked it and thought it had promise. 

Wow. I related that story to Pierce as we drove to his violin teacher. I reminded him that perfect practice makes perfect, while rubbish practice makes rubbish. He smiled a little, gave me a hug, took a deep breath and walked through her door.

My husband and I sat outside and listened. Chickens roamed around us pecking for food. Sheep grazed in the paddocks and a ginger cat sunned herself on the stone steps. 

We sat and waited. Soon, the sound we were waiting for touched our ears, and our hearts.

He played. Tentatively at first, and then with joy as his worries melted away.

Tears filled my eyes with every squeak,every misplaced note. My son had listened and won.   

What fears have you conquered in your life?

Twinkle, twinkle little star

How I wonder what you are

Up, above the world so high

Like a diamond in the sky

Twinkle, twinkle little star

How I wonder what you are.

Lee Franklin lives in Western Australia with her husband and violin-playing son. She loves to read, cook and sing to her cows. They, on the other hand, are very glad they're tone deaf. 

Who Let The Cows Out? Moo-Moo-Moo-Moo!

(Lynne Burgess is unable to post today, so I'm filling in for her. Hope you get better soon, Lynne!)


Yes, I know. That was a poor rendition of a pretty famous song.

I must confess, today it was me who let the cows out. You see, we live on a small property and have six, gorgeous, Dexter cows. We also have lots and lots of grass that needs to be mown.

Six cows and one sheep can eat a lot of grass. Hubby mows a lot of grass. So we came to the natural conclusion.

Let our four-legged, manure-making, automatic-mowing-machines out!

Yes. Brilliant idea.

We closed the front gate and put a padlock on it. Can't have cows wandering on a main road.

Made sure they couldn't hurt themselves on anything. Made sure fresh water was available.

Then it was time to let them loose.

You should have seen them. It looked like a bunch of prisoners escaping from a Federal Penitentiary. Cows kicking, sheep baa-ing and dogs barking. The noise was deafening.

Life was good. Cows were happy, hubby was happy, what more could I ask for?

I settled into my favourite chair, pulled out a book I needed to review and grabbed a Pepsi Max.

Yep, life was good.

Thirty minutes later and I got that creepy feeling. The one where you just know someone, somewhere is looking at you.

I turned my head...and there was Babette, nose pressed against the window looking at me.

Once I got over the shock and cleaned up the spilt Pepsi, I grabbed my phone and took a pic.

That's a photo of her above.

Isn't she the prettiest cow you ever saw?

So yes, it was me who let the cows out. Moo, moo, moo, moo.

Now I just have to work that scene into a story. And, considering I write suspense it won't be easy.

How would you include that scene into your current work-in-progress?

_____________________

Lee Franklin lives in Western Australia on a small property. She loves her cows and has even been known to ask their opinion on story ideas. They're happy to listen to anything she says, as long as she's brushing their coat at the time!

http://www.hyalinehouse.com/

I have a confession.

My name is Lee. And I'm an addict.

My story first starts when I was about six months old. At the time I had measles and my nanna, who had come down from Dalby to help mum look after me, bought me a present. It was one of those little plastic books with a squeaker inside, and I drove everyone up the wall with the constant noise. But, they didn't mind, at least I was happy.

When I was two-years-old, one book wasn't enough. I'd now graduated to having three, precious, 'Little Golden' books. Remember those? The cute pictures and innocuous stories had me hooked. I would sit on one book, balance the second on my head while reading the third.

Some people, bless their little cotton socks, even thought that was amusing.

Fast forward to high school and I was now writing stories, appearing in school plays and entering competitions. My drama teacher also taught me English, the subject not  the language, and just happened to live across the road from my nanna. She had a room full of books, her very own library, and I spent countless hours curled up next to her fireplace, book in hand.

Yes, I was truly addicted. To fiction.

My husband, bless his little cotton socks, thinks it makes life easier. He doesn't have to worry about what to buy me for Christmas or birthdays, and has even been known to openly support my habit.

Silly man. But then his addiction has nothing to do with fiction. No. He loves text books. In particular, anything to do with math, or computers, or conjugating French verbs...well you get the idea.

It appears this addiction can also be passed onto children.

Our son also loves to read and has his own collection of books.

Sad I know.

Does this addiction ever end, I hear you ask?

No. In fact it gets worse.

I started off reading, graduated to writing suspense, and now, own a publishing company.

Perhaps I should start a group for others similarly afflicted.

I'm sure there's bound to be one or two others like me.

Want to join me?
_________________________________

Lee Franklin lives in Western Australia with her husband and son.
She loves reading, cooking, pink (the colour not the singer) and spending time with friends.
You can find her on Facebook and at http://www.hyalinehouse.com/