Mapping out the Journey

So, I've taken a bit of heat on Facebook when I revealed that I had started reading a book that blended creative writing and yoga. It would seem that the majority of my friends are unable (or unwilling) to see the connection between the two. But in their defense, I had purchased this book years ago (in 2004) and tried to start reading it back then (and even once since then) but I guess I wasn't "ready" for it, because both times I couldn't get past the first few pages.

But you know the old saying, "When the student is ready the Master will appear." I must be ready now, and I tell you, this book is awesome.

To many it might seem odd to blend a physical activity, such as yoga (and to all those who are disciples of yoga--I know! I know! Yoga is more spiritual than it is physical...but bear with me) with creative writing, which is largely mental (and again, to all those who are writers know that writing is so much more than what takes place in the brain...but bear with me). It is this blending of the breath, body, mind, and spirit. I have always been a believer that the mind, body, and spirit are closely connected (I might even say that they are "One"), and when you affect one, for good or bad, the others are affected, too. So it was a familiar voice that spoke to me from this book when the connection was made with specific emphasis on writing.

"If you do not breathe correctly, you do not move correctly." So said Chuin, the Master of Sinanju, and it has been a concept that I have believed in for years. Thus far (I am only in chapter 3) this book has given great instruction and yoga suggestions for calming the mind, centering the body and making a real difference in my own writing practice and routine. I seem to be more of a "hands on" learner, and when I can blend the physical to help the mental or spiritual, I tend to learn better and modify my behaviors to better reach my goals. I have started to take a long look at my intentions for writing, being better about scheduling it and making a regular appointment with my muse (this was the key, by the way, to how I was able to write Lifted Up--every day at my lunch hour the words would flow fast and furious for exactly one hour and then dry up, only to return the next day during lunch--it was really odd until I understood the importance of routine and regularity). This book is really helping me map out my journey toward my dream of writing full time.

So to all you naysayers out there, those who believe only in traditional (and perhaps outdated) instruction, I would encourage you to suspend your disbelief, if even for a minute, and consider that there may be more to this world and the way we operate within it than meets the eye.

...so let it be done.

Not So "Lost"...

OK, I'll be the first one to admit that I have been somewhat of a slacker these past few weeks. I login daily, see the current (past) post, get to work, and then forget about it (or just run out of steam by the end of the day). But if anything could get me off my proverbial "duff" and back sharing my (admittedly odd) ideas, it is the network television show that I am "hooked" on: Lost.

For those of you don't know me well enough, we started watching Lost at the beginning of Season 2. But before it started we borrowed Season 1 from the Library and watched all 7 DVDs in one week, often staying up until 1 or 2am (...quick look at the clock...it's not quite 1am...we got time for one more...). I absolutely LOVED the twists and the tangling of the passengers' lives, and then there was the mysterious "monster" in the jungle and those whispering "others"--I was in TV heaven!

Then they revealed the Dharma Initiative, and met Ben and his band of "others", who weren't really that different from the passengers, all except for that Richard guy, and Lost began to "lose" me. But by then I was a Lost junkie and couldn't quit if I wanted to.

Seasons 3, 4, and now 5 passed with usually a frustrated feeling but a hope that next week I'd learn something I could use to help me figure out what the heck was going on.

But then the Season Finale offered up a small sip of water to whet my insatiable thirst that had been building for nearly three years, and I think (I hope) I see where it might all be going.

First, years ago when the Internet was buzzing with theories on where, exactly, the survivors of Oceanic 815 were and what the island really was, I was particularly fond of the theory that the "survivors" had actually died in the crash and that the island was a place like purgatory where the passengers were given a chance to prove whether they were good or bad and that when they "died" on the island they moved on to their respective eternal rewards, either heaven or hell. But then they introduced the Hatch, the computers, the Dharma Initiative, people coming and going to the island via submarine, and that was the end of that theory.

Or was it?

So the Season Finale beings with two men speaking with each other on the beach. In the distance is a masted ship (we assume it's the one "beached" in the middle of the jungle). One of the men (Jacob) is wearing a white shirt the other is wearing black. At first listen, their conversation would suggest that Jacob (wearing white) is good while the other (wearing black) is evil ("Do you know how bad I want to kill you?"), but if you listen to their brief exchange, it would appear that Jacob is actually the bad one, and the events of the show confirm it.

At first it appears that Jacob was showing up in the past of many of the survivors lives and, at first glance anyway, seems to help them--but it is not help. As a child, Kate had stolen a lunchbox and got caught by the store owner. He was about to call her mother when Jacob shows up and buys the lunchbox--no harm, no foul, and the store owner doesn't make that call. A good thing, right? Wrong. If her mother had been called and if Kate had experienced the consequence of stealing when she was young she may not have been on the run and later on that plane in handcuffs. And then when Sawyer was a boy at his mother's funeral his pen runs out of ink while he is writing that fateful "revenge" letter to the killer. Jacob appears and gives him another pen. Again, a nice thing to do, right? Wrong. If he had never finished that letter he wouldn't have turned out the way he did and end up on that island, as well. Jacob is the bad guy!

So, returning to my not being so "lost" anymore, if Jacob and the man in black are god-like beings (as they are presented in the episode), and this is all some kind of eternal struggle between them, using humans as pawns, or at least watching how them to prove our worth in the grand scheme of things, this at least makes some sense.

I know it's not much, but it's something, and at this point I'm so starved for answers that even the hint of an answer will carry me through the summer and fall and into what I understand is going to be the last season.

Here's to hope...

...So let it be done.

"Strange things are a-foot at the Circle K"

A lot has happened since I last blogged, and I have been a bit of a slacker for not sharing it all (any) of you that might care.

First, a little background.

Last year I received a telephone call from a movie producer who had just read Lifted Up and was very moved by it. He expressed a real desire to make it into a movie, and not one of these local "Mormon" movies but one destined for a national release and with a budget in excess of 8 figures. He was putting together the funds and lining up investors, but wanted to touch base with me, make sure the movie rights were still available, and generally talk about the opportunity this movie would have to touch many more people than it had already reached.

I was on a high for a couple of months. But the news died down, and there was really nothing more to report.

And then last Tuesday I am struck with the idea of sending this producer a personalized copy of Lifted Up as well as Shadow Hunter with a little note just saying "Hi" and wondering how things were going. I did a reverse search on his telephone number and found his address and planned to send the books out before we left on vacation on Thursday.

And then on Wednesday afternoon who should call me out of the blue? This producer. He had been thinking about me for a little while and had news about the movie project. It seemed that they had been working on funding a multi-movie deal and they were about ready to close the deal and just wanted to make sure everything was still a "go" on my end. I offered to purchase books for some of the decision-makers and met with two of his associates that night. It was amazing!

Now, I have kept my enthusiasm in check this past week because nothing is final or for certain at this point, but there is a real possibility that the pre-production money will be approved and they will have me start working on the screenplay. To quote the words of Ted Theodore Logan, Strange things are (indeed) a-foot in the Galli household.

So let it be done...

Joy in the Journey

Natalie included some of these pictures from our first book signing for Shadow Hunter on her Facebook page, but I wanted to include a couple of them here and share some thoughts about them.

I remember a few years ago when Orson Scott Card (Ender's Game, etc.) came for a book signing at the old Media Play on Fort Union. I brought my favorite books by him (Characters & Viewpoints, and How to Write Science Fiction) and got in the back of a line that reached to the front of the store and started to wrap around to one side. There must have been 200-300 people waiting in line for his autograph and the chance to say a few words or ask him a quick question. It was a pretty big deal. A book signing for a small, local LDS-related book is not.


I mean, it's great to meet with the store manager and sales associates who have all read your book and can discuss it in detail with you, but for the most part you sit at a table just inside the front doors and smile as the customers come in and talk about and promote your book. Sometimes you meet people who share a real passion for the subject of your book, or (better yet) people who have actually read your book and can ask you questions about why the characters did this, or why the plot took this direction. It's pretty cool.


But in the end, and I've said this many times before, you don't write books for the money. Of course, it would be nice to finally reach a place where you could actually live off the royalties and write full time, but most of us have to find other means to make the mortgage payment and put food on the table until that far-off goal is eventually realized. In the meantime, you do what you can to find joy in the journey, personalizing each book, as you would a gift, with a sincere hope that they enjoy your book.


...so let it be done.

Super Breakout!

For the better part of a year I have been dreading the ending of my next book. It started out with a bang, the characters and action and plot line(s) just jumped out at me and it was all I could do to write it down. In fact, it came so fast and furiously (TWSS) that for the first time I wrote the first draft directly on the computer. It truly was a first.

And then I hit "the wall." I was concerned that my story premise couldn't carry through to the end. Exactly what was the motivation/purpose of one of my main characters? Nothing I came up gave me the goosebumps and felt right. And then there was the ending. I knew what I wanted to happen, but what I want and what I get are often two different things. And so, even when the chance came to write, I dreaded it. Was I on that "road to nowhere"?

And then it hit. In fact, it hit shortly after one of my previous blogs about being more committed to writing, and my character issue materialized. And what's even more cool is that I could see the shadows of this motivation throughout the half of the story that was already written--it was like my subconscious knew it all along and was just waiting for me to catch up.

And then this weekend the floodgates opened! It was all I could do to type in the scenes and chapters that I had to write/re-write, and (I have to say), I love this ending! I wasn't expecting it quite like this, but I love it! (That might sound a little odd to someone who hasn't written fiction before--these stories really do take on a life of their own.) It's got drama, it's got intrigue, it's got sacrifice, it's got death, and more importantly, it's got life! I started getting up an hour earlier just to make sure I get the time in to write before my work and other responsibilities get a hold of me.

It feels good to be "in the zone" again. I hope you all like it when it's completed.

...so let it be done.

Tales of a 6th Grade Nothing

A few weeks ago I found my old 6th Grade notebook that I wrote all my short story assignments in. I can't imagine why I would have kept it, but I am glad I did.

As a writer, I have been asked many times when I knew I was going to be a writer. I guess I had always enjoyed writing, as evident by this blast from the past. I have to say, though, I do remember my father pushing me at this age to come up with good ideas and write better than I might have without his pressure. I'm sure many of these stories have his influence on them, and for that I am grateful.

I have typed up one of the first stories in the notebook and have included it here for you to read. I hope you like it.


Reading Guy Galli
Period 2 Feb 7, 1982

Five Miles Off Kotzebue Sound


“Mayday! Mayday! Do you read me? Point Barrow! Do you read me? Iced wings! Repeat! Iced wings! I’m going in for a crash landing. Five miles northeast of Kotzebue Sound.”

The next day I woke up—alive, but cold and numb. I decided to take a look outside. All I could see was snow blowing in my face. I climbed back into the plane for something to east. All I found was a half-eaten pastrami sandwich and a can of beer. The plane was full of supplies, all right, but mostly valves, regulators, and pipe destined for the oil pumping station at Point Barrow.

My flight survival course had taught me to stay with the plan and wait for help, but I couldn’t be sure my “Mayday” call had been heard. If I stayed I could easily starve or freeze to death. I decided to start out on foot for the Eskimo villages which I knew dotted the shores of the Katzebue Sound.

It was mid-morning before I was packed for the journey complete with snowshoes. A blinding snow was still falling and it was difficult to see where I was going. “I might be going in the wrong direction,” I thought. The going was tough and night was coming on. The temperature was falling. I stumbled into a large crevice in the snow which got me out of the wind. I started a small fire using pieces of packing crate I had brought from the plane. I took a bite or two from my sandwich and fell asleep.

That morning I awoke to the sound of a polar bear. I was frightened more than ever now. I didn’t have any weapons except for a pocket knife. By the time I could reach my knife, the bear was all over me. I jabbed and slashed until the knife found its way to the bear’s stomach. The bear bellowed and ran away to find easier prey. I was in bad shape, myself, but I felt that I had better move on because the bear would probably be back. I bandaged my wounds the best I could and climbed out of the crevice.

The snow storm was calming down, and I could see better than the day before. I headed southwest. Four hours had passed when, over a ridge, I saw an Eskimo village. I didn’t speak Eskimo, but I didn’t have to. They saw my wounds and that I was blue and numb and took me in. They warmed me and fed me whale blubber. I was so hungry that I ate it like it was steak.

After I ate and rested, I tried to communicate with my newly found friends. One of them spoke a little English. I told him the whole story of how I had become stranded and my fight with the polar bear.

The next day, the Eskimos loaded me onto a dog sled. It was three days before we reached Nome. If it wasn’t for the Eskimos, I wouldn’t have lived to tell this story.


THE END

What do you want to be when you grow up?

This morning (strangely enough) I was thinking about what I wanted to be when I grow up. Notice I used "grow up" and not "grew up"--it's a matter of time that we "grow old" but we each decide when or if we "grow up." (That's my excuse, anyway, for still liking to eat a bowl of Cap'n Crunch while watching Saturday morning cartoons.)


With the release of my latest book, Shadow Hunter, I find myself reminiscing about the goals and dreams of my youth. My first recollection of "knowing" what I wanted to be when I grew up was this ad that ran in the Salt Lake Tribune when I was 13 or 14. It was a recruitment push by the CIA. Now, I'm not sure how often ads like this ran before I saw it (and cut it out), but I am pretty sure they have never run one like it since. Now, I was raised on James Bond and always imaged how cool it would be to be a spy, but the serious thought had not really crossed my mind until my dad pointed out the ad in the paper. From that point on, I read books, I watched history and documentaries, and even made a conscious decision in choosing my classes in Junior High, High School, and even College based on this assumption that I was destined for a life in the smokey, mirrored world of international espionage.



But then two things happened. First, I met the cute young lady that would later marry. Now, at this time, I had an application in for an internship with the CIA, and had also submitted one for the FBI. Natalie made it very clear while we were dating that she did not want to be married to someone who had to carry a gun or put his life on the line like that on a regular basis. You might think that it was a difficult decision to make, after all I had spent my entire life preparing for this line of work, taking German (during the Cold War) and Arabic (post Cold War), as well as a myriad of Middle Eastern, Asian, and South American courses at the U, not to mention years of Kung Fu. You might think that nothing could stop this Juggernaut pushing me toward a life of secrecy, but Natalie did. I made the choice then that I wanted to be married to to more than I wanted to work for the CIA or FBI or any of the other agencies I had applications for.



And then the other thing happened: I wrote my first novel. I have said this elsewhere, but the first book I ever wrote is the latest one to be published (Shadow Hunter) but back then it was titled, A Green Hill Far Away. About 15 years ago, my father shared with me a dream he'd had the night before, and over a game of pool we fleshed it out into a pretty good story. When the game was over (I think he won) he said, "and we're going to write it." The next day we started working on what would be our first novel. The next year and a half was challenging, fun, exciting, disappointing, and exhausting, all rolled into one. I still remember very clearly looking at the final, printed copy of the book, sitting there on the bed--I was so proud of it you might have thought I had just given birth to healthy, 400 page baby boy--and thinking, "I finally know what I want to be when I grow up." I was 25.



Now, when people would ask the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I would smile and say, "Happy." The reaction was always, "No, really. What do you want to be when you grow up?" and again I would emphasize that I just want to be happy. Would I have been happy being some foreign analyst working on the 3rd floor of the CIA offices in Langley, VA? Do I ever regret not pushing on toward my childhood dream of serving my country in this capacity? Not once. I made the right decision to choose Natalie and our life together over one glamorized by Hollywood. Happiness comes from not living with regret. Sure, you'll make mistakes and poor choices from time to time, but learning from them and moving forward, either toward a dream or being present in the one currently live--this is where you find real happiness and satisfaction in life.



So, what do you want to be when you grow up?

No Joke...

FedEx knocked about 20 minutes ago with a box full of books. Looks like my fears about having to explain to everyone why, on April 1st, my book wasn't in the stores were unfounded after all. Oh, me, of little faith.

On this note, let me say that I listened to the Audio CD for a few minutes, too, and LOVE it. The narrator read it exactly the way I wrote it, and even gave the Middle Eastern dialogue a little accent. It is great!

How in the world am I expected to work the rest of the day?

A Little Stage Fright...?

A lot of people have been building up April 1st. Not for the fun and pranks that are bound to be played with a house full of elementary school-aged children, but for the release of my latest book, Shadow Hunter. But I have this sinking feeling that perhaps I have missed something in its release, an email, perhaps, that I missed about it's delay. You see, if my memory serves me (which it rarely does...) Covenant had sent me a box of books that arrived a day or two before Lifted Up was released, arranged for book signings, and made it a really big deal. They had even produced a television commercial for it (click below). We had dinner plans with friends and family and it felt like a big deal.



But today, the day before its release, I'm just not feeling it. No books have been delivered, no book signings, no advance mailer/catalog with the titles listed in full color--nothing. Which makes me wonder if tomorrow is really the day.



Here's to hope.

On Success...

I have to admit, these past few weeks have been more than a little uncomfortable for me. You see, for the past 20 years I have been happy living in my secluded, and largely friend-less (or at least friend-impaired) life (Facebook and blogging--connecting with those of my past--is a little unnerving for me). And perhaps now, more than ever, I find myself trying to evaluate my life and determine whether I am a "success" or not. In fact, and truth be told, I chose not to attend my 20 year high school reunion because I dreaded having to answer the question, "so what do you do for a living?" For those of you who know the events of my business and financial life you will understand; for those of you who don't, let me just say that it was less than stellar. It pains me to say it, but I considered myself a failure at that point in time and didn't want to be reminded of it in conversations with "successful" friends.


But I know better than that. I have believed and taught for years that what you do is not who you are. But still I fell into that trap. So, what is success and how is it measured in one's life? I have a few thoughts on this today.


For twelve years I worked for the State of Utah. I quickly worked my way up the ladder, made some serious career advancements, and found myself sitting on top of the governmental over-worked-under-paid-under-appreciated heap, and fairly happy with it all. But deep down I knew something was missing. You see, I had written a book with my dad in 1995-1996, and knew then, at age 25, what I wanted to be when I grew up.


For years this drive to write consumed my thoughts (and lunch breaks), writing another book with him (The Last Silver Bullet), turning it into a movie screenplay, penning a Destroyer series short story (Unofficial Action), and then finally authoring Lifted Up, all written at home, on the train, or during my lunch hours. And when Lifted Up was published I glimpsed for the first time the fruits of my labors. Sure, there wasn't much money it (I think it came out to under $1 an hour) but my book was in the hands of readers who, for the most part, loved it. I knew it could be done. Nothing was going to stop me. This apparently included leaving my secure, well-paying job.


In 2005 I gave my notice (over the objections of well-meaning family members), and in May found myself self-employed, a small business owner, with little more than his dreams to keep him going. But state employment did little to prepare me for what was waiting for me. To make a long story short (too late, I know), I found myself selling my interest in the business that was going to make me a "success", start a new line of work, only to have projects completed just as the housing and financial markets began their out-of-control tailspin. My life, it seemed, was a failure.


But just when things looked bleak, a ray of light pierced the dark skies and I found myself writing for a company that designs and develops corporate instructional design material. I was writing again, working from home, and at least had the chance to start working on my books again. At the insistence of my dad, I resubmitted our first novel, A Green Hill Far Away (now Shadow Hunter) and to my utter surprise, they loved it, and it was scheduled for publication. Another small success.


But through it all, I often failed to see where my true success lay. During the good times, and especially during the bad, I have never been alone. My wife, my best (and sometimes only) friend never gave up on me and never left my side. She always and continues to believe in me. And then there are my children, who don't really care where we live, or what new toys they have (or don't have), just so long as I'll get down on the floor and play with them. Their love is my greatest success. It is easy to say that family is all that matters to you when you have everything, but when you are faced with quite possibly losing everything you have this truth becomes a reality, and it sinks deep into the recesses of your soul.


For me, this is my success.



--Guy

Those who can't...teach

Now, before I write another word, I need to make sure that all of the educators out there do not take offense at this title (although I am sure you have all heard it before in one context or another). You educators work your tails off--and it's not for the money--and for that we all owe you a great deal of gratitude.

(I'm glad I got that out of the way...)

Now, this blog is about those who profess to "know" how to do something but haven't actually done it. Like the friend who knows how to make a six-figure income selling soap (and wants you to sign up with him...) but hasn't actually done it--yet. We are surrounded by "so-called" experts, and I ran into one the yesterday.

Waiting for Hannah to take her 7th Grade Honors English placement exam I struck up a conversation with a professor/teacher that was setting up in the room for her Fiction Writing Adult-Ed class. Fiction writing? That's just up my alley, and besides, I had brought the draft of my latest work (The Watchers) with me to edit and review. So I put down the red pen and pulled up a seat next to her. After some chit-chat about writing, her class outlines, and what books we had in common, an exchange took place along these lines:

"So, it seems you have an interest in writing," she says. "Are you working on anything right now?"

"Yes. Actually, my new book comes out in a couple weeks, and they are going to re-release my other novel, too."

"Oh," she says, her eyes getting wide but leaning back, away from me (has my deoderant worn off?), "What's it's name?"

"Shadow Hunter. The other was is called Lifted Up."

She shakes her head. "What is your name?"

"Galli. Guy Galli," I say (but not like James Bond--dang!).

She looks at me and squints her eyes somewhat. "Nope. Sorry. I've never heard of you."

And then that was it. It got real uncomfortable all of a sudden. So to make conversation (Hannah still wasn't done yet--how hard could that test be, anyway?), I ask,

"So, have you written anything I might have read?" Uncomfortable or not, I am still in awe of other published authors.

"Well," she starts, quite timidly, I might add, "I've had a couple of article and poems published in a few magazines over the years, but nothing other than that. But," she gets more animated now, "people always say I have written good stuff if I would only finish them and try to get them published."

I smile. "That's great," I say. "Well, good luck with that and with your class," and I'm out the door (Hannah's still not done yet! C'mon, Hannah! Let's Go! Move it! B...D...A...B...C!)

Now, I have to be careful not to sound like I am getting full of myself, (too late, I know), but if you were going to pay to take a fiction writing class, wouldn't you want to take one from someone who has actually written fiction and been published, or at least submitted one or two works? I don't know, maybe it's just me.

--Guy

If You Plan to Plan you Fail to Fail...is that how it goes?

I have set myself on a new schedule in an attempt to get more accomplished during the day and have more to show at the end of the week. I have many aspects of my "business" life that all seem to pull and tug me in different directions and take up the limited time I have during the day (and night). I'm going to put into practice the advice to use 5% of my time to plan the other 95%. (And the cliche, If you fail to plan you plan to fail, keeps running through my mind.)

So, a big part of this planning initiative is making the time to write. To this point I have claimed it was what I wanted to do for a living, but only made time for it like a hobby. This has to stop if I am going to make this dream a reality. It's like the scene in (one of my absolute favorite books) The Alchemist, when the boy realizes that not everyone actually wants to acheive their dreams and goals--some people are happy just having a dream. I don't want to be one of those people. Although I live most of my life in my mind (the result of an over active imagination), I do enjoy seeing the fruits of my labors, so to speak.

So with this new schedule, with specific and concrete goals, I venture into what I hope is the next stage of my writing, where I am able to complete two books a year, not as hobbies, but as a serious means to support my family. I know that I created another blog to discuss my more religious thoughts and subjects, but I need to cross that line for a minute on this topic.

I have been self-employed going on four years. A large part of that decision to leave the safety of State employment and seniority was the feeling Natalie and I both had that I was supposed to pursue my writing (and I felt that working full time and being away from home for nearly 11 hours a day wasn't going to allow for this). In my heart, and in a very real sense, I promised God that I would write if I was able to stay home. Of course, anyone who has ever been self-employed knows that you work harder and longer when you are relying on yourself and the money you make instead of the money you earn at a job. My writing again took a backseat to my business efforts, and my spare time was quickly and mindlessly filled with old Seinfeld episodes.

When I was forced to return to the workplace last year, I realized (again) how good I had it working from home and re-committed to work harder and make writing a priority in my life, and (again) made a deal with God that if I was able to return to working from home that I would continue to use my talents (limited as they might be) to write and reach people through my words.

We were blessed with yet another opportunity to return and work from home again, and then the words of Joseph Smith struck me to the very center: "Men not unfrequently forget that they are dependent upon heaven for every blessing which they are permitted to enjoy, and that for every opportunity granted them they are to give an account." It was like God was speaking directly to me and I redoubled my efforts to make sure that I succeed this time, that regardless where I am working--at home or in a cubicle somewhere--that I continue to make the development and use of this talent to use, for I will be asked to give an accounting when all is said and done, and as I have said many times before, I never want to hear myself utter those words, "If I'd only..."

--Guy

Twilight and the Confessions of a Skeptic

As the title explains, I have some confessions about the movie, Twilight. Now, I do want to make it clear that in no way do I change my thoughts and opinions of the books (those that I actually read) but that this commentary (confessions, actually) is about the movie.

And the confession is: I actually liked it.

Natalie has been a fan of the books and has seen the movie at least two other times (that I am aware of...but come to think of it, she did come home from a church meeting or two smelling like buttered popcorn. Hmmm...) but we decided to wait until it hit the dollar show before setting out together. Of course, we actually waited until the weekend the movie was released on DVD to venture to the theaters, and were lucky that it was still playing.

Now, I will admit that I did read Twilight a few months ago, more out of a professional/writer curiosity than anything else--what is Stephanie Myers doing right that I am not? (It turns out that she knows a thing or two about teenage "girl stuff" that I, and my male counterparts, are ignorantly unaware of.)

The movie had one thing going for it that the book didn't--something actually happened in the movie! The teenage drama was there, but there wasn't 300 pages of it before something happened. Im talking about action! Now, granted, there wasn't much, but it was more than the books, and for that I was grateful. I thought the love story was satisfying, and the dialoge realistic (as much as you can between a gothic/moody human and a perpetually youthful vampire). I thought the casting was done well. I thought that the actress that played Bella was well chosen and portrayed a pretty yet "gir next door" character. Edward had to grow on me, but by the end I was taken by his character, as well. And then there is that perfect line: "Your scent, it's like a drug to me. You're like my own personal brand of heroin." Classic! in a somewhat inappropriate-for-teenagers way.

So am I less of a man for admitting this? Perhaps. But I have to give credit where credit is due.

Until next time...

Thoughts on God...

I don't take a topic like this one lightly, but I have been flooded with thoughts about God, His nature, and our relationship to Him these past few days. You see, Natalie read the book The Shack, by Wm. Paul Young (www.theshackbook.com) in her bookclub a few months ago and was really touched by it. I reluctantly agreed to read it and took my own sweet time picking it up. It didn't seem like the type of book I would take the time to read (my "free" time to read is pretty limited...), but it remained there on the dresser and I finally opened it and began reading.

Now, I don't want to spoil the plot lines or give anything away, but I do want to share some of my thoughts about it. The main character, Mack, through a series of incredible events ends up spending the weekend with God, Jesus, and Holy Spirit at a remote cabin (shack) deep in the woods. For Mack it is a spiritual journey that I have seldom seen or read about. Theology aside (the restoration of the gospel has given us lost truths about the nature of God, where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going after this life, which I believe are true)...like I was saying, theology aside, the author's explanation and insight into a very personal relationship with God is quite amazing and uplifting. I can only touch on a few of them here, so here goes:

The truth that God is not only the creator of the universe, the world, and everything thereon, but that he is intimately aware of each of us, and loves us without measure or condition, was inspiring. In the book, what God desires of us is not simply obedience, but a "relationship" with him, a blending of wills, where our thoughts are His thoughts, and vice versa. Add to this our knowledge that we are all literally spiritual sons and daughters of God, it was reassuring that He wants us to be like him, not just slaves or servants to His will. It was sweet to see the perfect "One-ness" of God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost. It was a little odd to see the Godhead portrayed the way they were, but the topics, conversations, and actions of the three were much like I imagine it.

It was interesting to read about the fact that Light and Goodness exists, and that darkness, for example, only exists with the absence of light, and not the other way around. This is a subject I have felt passionately about for as long as I can remember. We, as children of God, have more power that we give ourselves credit with. Darkness and evil cannot ever win the war as their existence is dependant on the absence of light and goodness and God, being eternal and from everlasting to everlasting, isn't going anywhere any time soon. It is us who stray from and leave God, and not (never) the other way around. I'm not sure if this last part is making much sense, but I hope you get the drift of what I am trying to say. (You would think a writer would have better control of the English language, but that's what re-writes and editors are for...)

Anyway, couple finishing The Shack this morning and then going to the Draper Temple dedication today, and my thoughts are very much on things eternal. I will likely come back to this topic from time to time, and hope you will bear with me. Please, I welcome your comments and thoughts on this, and every blog I publish. I would love to chat with you.

--Guy

I wanted to take a quick minute this morning and comment on one of my favorite television shows: Lost. Natalie and I have been watching lost since Season 2. We began our Lost journey by checking out Season 1 from the library and watching them almost non-stop for a week. We didn't get to bed before 1am or 2 am for that week. It was AWESOME! Season 2 did not disappoint, either. The character development, the plotting, foreshadowing, building conflict, setting major characters in place--everything was great! Now, I have to say, that watching shows or movies, and especially reading books for a writer is an entirely different experience than most. For me, anyway, I tend to analyze every part, listening for word choice, scene and setting placements, etc., looking for the "tricks" of the trade as the story progresses. It can be somewhat of a curse because gone are the days of seeing a movie or reading a book for the simple pleasure of it.

But I digress...

Seasons 3 and 4 of Lost have typified the problem of "writing yourself into a corner." I laughed pretty hard when Saturday Night Live, News Update, reported (something along these lines): "NBC announced today that the television series Lost was picked up for four more seasons, to which the writers were reported as saying: Oh, Crap!" Now, I have to admit, that I have written myself into that proverbial corner many times, but as a writer of a novel (yet unpublished) you can always go back, fix parts that need fixing, change scenes or events, and make the characters at the end of the book match the characters you started with (they inevitably grow and change as you write the story). You can't, however, do this with a series television show, such as Lost. And I cringe when we watch it now, wondering, "How in the world are they going to wrap this up?" (I have to admit, a few years ago when there was buzz on the internet about what the island really was, and where the passengers really were, I really liked the idea that the island was a "pergatory-like" state and when the characters "died" on the island they had tipped the scales--so to speak--and either went on to heaven or hell.)

Needless to say, we continue watching every Wednesday night, frustrated with the new plot twists and added confusion, and I hope and pray (well, sort of...you know what I mean) that the writers are able to tie it all up in a way that satisfies the hard-core fans (like us, who wait on each and every episode with baded breath).

"In the beginning...."


First impressions are important, and I want to make a good one with you. I have never contributed to or maintained a blog before, and I know that I have a lot to learn, so I hope you will be patient with me as I experiment and try new things with this.


When Lifted Up was published over 5 years ago, I heard back from many readers who directed their comments to the publisher or who sought me out from the local phone book. It pained me to not have a very effective means to respond to their many questions and requests to discuss parts of the book. I am very hopeful that through this blog I will have that opportunity to talk with more of you over the years.


So...

After much too much put-off and delay and concern on what in the world to write and include on my first-ever blog, I have finally decided how to start out my blog and personal and professional thoughts and journal--I have decided to start at the beginning. Genius! I know.

We writers are painfully aware that the first few words and sentences we pen are critical to every book's success. Done right and we may have a best-seller on our hands; done poorly, and it could be the most inspiring, influencial book ever written but it will go largely unread and unappreciated.

You may not judge a book by it's cover, but you certainly judge it by it's first paragraph. You may not even realize this, but for most of us the decision to purchase and/or read a book is the same:

1. The color of the book cover will catch our eye
2. We will read the back or jacket-cover synopsis
3. If that interests us, we will open to chapter one and begin reading

If those first lines don't catch our attention, if we are not "hooked" at this early point, we put the book down and move on. In this light, I offer here the opening lines from a few of my favorite books.

"I am the vampire Lestat. I'm immortal. More or less. The light of the sun, the sustained heat of an intense fire--these things might destroy me. But then again, they might not."

--Anne Rice, The Vampire Lestat

"When Chili first came to Miami Beach twelve years ago they were having one of their off-and-on cold winters: thirty-four degrees the day he met Tommy Carlo for lunch at Vesuvio's on South Collins and had his leather jacket ripped off. One his wife had given him for Christmas a year ago, before they moved down here."

--Elmord Leonard, Get Shorty

"Sally."

A mutter.

"Wake up, Sally."

A louder mutter: leeme lone.

He shook her harder.

"Wake up. You got to wake up!"

--Stephen King, The Stand

"His name was Remo..."

--Richard Sapir and Warren Murphy, The Destroyer series (this was how every Chapter 2 began)

"Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun."

--Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

"The boy's name was Santiago. Dusk was falling as the boy arrived with his herd at an abandoned church. The roof had fallen in long ago, and an enormous sycamore had grown on the spot where the sacristy had once stood."

--Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

"The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the turn of the tide."

--Joseph Conrad, The Heart of Darkness

"I settled back into the crushed ebony velor of the Cadillac limousine's spacious rear seat and checked my Omega. The ride to burbank studios, according to the public relations people handling my tour, would take at least fifty minutes in the late afternoon traffic."

--Og Mandino, The Christ Commission

"Hafid lingered before the bronze mirror and studied his reflected image in the polished metal.

'Only the eyes have retained their youth,' he murmured as he turned away and moved slowly across the spacious marble floor."

--Og Mandino, The Greatest Salesman in the World

And thus it ends, for now, this maiden voyage of my blog, So Let it be Written...

I hope to update this regularly (if not daily) as I share with any of you that might care what it is like trying to balance writing, working (believe it or not, writing does not pay the bills...), and being the best husband and dad I can be. I look forward to hearing and talking to you!