Happy Birthday, Terry Kay

Almost two months have passed and the tears still come.

Uncontrollable.

Sorrowful drops splatting on my keyboard while I type.

I’m not ready to share images of us together at conferences and festivals. They are sacred.

Protected.

Locked in the vault. As were all our conversations, whispered with our heads pressed together like kindergartners avoiding naptime. It’s an honor being considered a vault, a place where your mentor can relax, speak truths.

Terry Kay was more than a mentor, he was my friend. I loved him.

There, I said it. I loved him. I was not alone. If you knew him, you loved him.

I sought his approval. I listened and heeded his advice: “Renea, keep writing.”

My debut novel would still be under the bed were it not for Terry Kay. I didn’t want to let him down. If Terry took the time to invest in you then you tried to live up to his expectations.

He called after reading my debut novel, Outbound Train. He’d read my non-fiction works, but it was his encouragement to transition to fiction that fueled me. I listened as his voice rich and healthy, full of glorious encouragement said, “This is Terry.”

That was all it took. I began to cry.

“Now don’t you go telling anyone about our talk. Not a soul, or I’ll have every writer in Georgia mad at me . . .” he paused for effect, for he’s spent a bit of time on the stage. “Girl, you can write.”

I couldn’t breathe. The Emmy-Award-Winning, author, liked my novel. He not only liked it, he called to tell me so. He gifted me his time. (The rest of our conversation is pressed into the pages of my journal. Bury me with those words, for they sustain me still).

“It’s unfortunate Covid will kill this novel.  No one will see it, you know that don’t you?” His voice had softened and took on the caress of a father kissing away tears of his daughter. I nodded. He was right.

“I am deeply sorry. You did everything right.”

I curled around the phone and sobbed. As I am now, pouring out my soul to you, the readers who sustain me.

“But, you can’t look behind you. You can’t look at what could have been. You’ve written one novel. It’s under your belt. You must get to work writing another.” His voice had changed to a velvety drill-sergeant. “Stay off Facebook. Start writing. Keep writing. Get an agent.”

I nodded.

+ + +

Liver cancer.

Aggressive.

My friend’s life became measured in moments that no longer included me. Still, I vowed to write. To write Terry daily, until I became worried his family would deem me a stalker; I decreased the letters to three a week.

I wanted to call, more than anything in the world I wanted to hear his voice. But I understand how cancer robs the most valuable currency: time with loved ones.

I continued writing, praying someone would read my letters to him. I know he received them because he messaged me, “receiving letters, too weak to respond.”

I wrote about the first time we met at the Blue Ridge Writers Conference. How he’d picked me out of the crowd and said, his voice strong and confident, “You are a writer.”

Terry Kay made me believe I was a writer. No other writer supported fledgling writers like Terry. My experience wasn’t isolated, although when you were with him he always made you feel like you were the only writer in the world.  We owe him everything. We craved his encouragement and discipline.

We needed Terry Kay to live forever.

And so the letters continued, hopeful-ever hopeful- for a healing, a miracle, or perhaps a letter postmarked from Athens, Georgia.

But no letter came.

It was selfish of me to hope for one last letter, a final email. He’d already sacrificed so much of his time for me, a nothing, a wannabe who sat at the feet of a master and licked crumbs that tumbled from the table. He’d given his time to readers, to writers and we’d devoured it like candy, then held out sticky hands begging for more.

The world could not get enough of Terry Kay.

As much as we loved him, his family loved him first, loved him more than we could imagine. To the Kay family, I am forever grateful for your gift, for the generosity in which you shared Terry with us.

Enough has been written about Terry Kay the writer. If you attended readings you’ve heard him recite While Reading. I link it here because the words are powerful. You should read it. Print it out.

You should read. Any book, any genre, worthy of your time, read it. Lesser known authors; read them first. Support those struggling to find a place at the literary table.

My favorite section: While reading, I have climbed mountains lost in clouds.

While reading, I’ve become people I cannot be, doing things I cannot do. And I do not know of any other experience that could have given me such a life—Terry Kay.

If you read any book this year, please pick up a copy of The Book of Marie. Today, I’m choosing to support Adventure Bound Books, a tiny bookstore in rural North Carolina who could really use your help. Call them at 828-475-6955 or text 828- 782-3358. Honor Terry today by placing an order with them, or Mercer University Press.

Happy Birthday Terry in heaven. You are missed, and shall never, ever be forgotten.

Photos taken from Terry’s Website and other public domains.

Order Renea’s debut novel at any of the following links, or through Adventure Bound Books

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Outbound-Train-Renea…/dp/1645262413

Barnes&Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/…/outbound…/1136262875

WALMART: https://www.walmart.com/search/…

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50690274-outbound-train

Collards, a Southern Tradition

Perhaps my favorite chapter in Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches is Chapter Four where I share the recipe for collards and explain why we Southerners eat what we do on the first day of the year. There is a reason we eat collards, and for some this delicacy has more to do with remembering how the South scratched and clawed her way back from destruction. Ponder for a moment, the lowly cow pea (black-eyed-peas) being left for Southerners to eat. The Yanks thought we had been defeated, but today, it is the Yanks who have moved to the South in droves, hungry for our lifestyle. I for one propose that if you are going to live “down South” you must partake of our heritage food.

Many reader might recall smelling a pot of collards simmering on the stove. That is not how I cook my collards, nor do I sprinkle them with vinegar. If you have tried boiled collards with vinegar and cringed at the taste, please give this little recipe a try. These are prepared using a cast-iron skillet.

Ingredients

One bunch of collards

1 package of hog-jowl with thick outside layer removed; or 1/2 pound of thick-cut bacon (extra crispy)

2 cans of chicken broth

Salt and Pepper to taste

2 Tablespoons Olive Oil

The Process

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Bake hog-jowl (or bacon) in the oven. I prefer to bake bacon and collards in the oven because this limits smoke and prevents grease from popping on your skin, and on the kitchen counter. While meat bakes prepare greens. Turn meat once to insure extra-crispiness. Drain on paper towel. Once cool,crumble.

Crumble when cool. Add to greens last to ensure crunchy texture.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Preparing the Greens:

Rinse collards to remove any dirt, drain on towels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Strip the leaves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remove ribs of the collards and chop into bite-sized pieces.

Pour Olive Oil in bottom of cast iron skillet and turn eye on medium-high.

 

 

 

 

 

When oil is hot add one piece of greens. If it starts to sizzle, pan is ready.

Add as much greens as possible, turn skillet to medium. Cover skillet.

Once greens wilt, add remaining collards.

 

Add one can of chicken broth. If you want a large amount of pot likker (see image below), add two cans.

 

Keep a lid on greens for three minutes.

Remove lid and stir.

Cook the greens until they are the consistency you desire. I do not cook mine “to death,” because I do like a good bit of pot likker with my greens.

Add hog jowl just before serving. I add the meat last because I want to retain a bit of crunch with my greens. You can add it during the cooking process if you would like.

 

 

 

Serve with cornbread.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goodbye 2014 Happy New Year friends. Best to you in 2015

Renea Winchester is the award-winning author of Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches; Mountain Memories: True Stories and Half-Truths from Appalachia. A Hardscrabble Christmas. Her first book, In the Garden with Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes earned her a SIBA and GAYA nomination. Email her through her website at www.reneawinchester.com. She welcomes new friends on Facebook. Follow her on Twitter Here.

 

My newest friend, Olivia debelle Byrd

Sometimes life throws you a curveball and sometimes the ball hits you smack-dab in the heart.

Such was the case a few weeks ago during the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance annual conference. SIBA is one of those groups that get behind an author and her story. They cheer, celebrate, encourage. Wanda and a host of talented staff and board members love books, love authors, and readers; even more exciting, they love connecting all three. So it was with much excitement that I loaded up some pickled okra freshly prepared by yours truly and pointed the car toward Norfolk VA for a weekend of meeting booksellers, bloggers, and fellow authors.

However, life, and her unpredictability had other plans.

For the record it takes a lot to draw me away from an event. I’m a people person. I don’t cancel events, ever. I do what I say when I say and I had spent the better part of a week pouring a whole lot of love into tiny jars. Going to SIBA was my opportunity to make my people proud. Put me in a room full of people and I’ll wear myself out trying to meet and greet everyone I can. I blame the Winchester genes. We like people . . . want to get to know folk, pull them into our large family.

However when one gets heart-sinking news, one must change plans.

Texting the staff of Mercer University Press, I tearfully expressed my regret while hoping and praying that they would understand. They had paid for my place at the SIBA table, a spot that would be empty as copies of my book Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches waited for me, the author who would never arrive.

I cried.

I cried a lot.

Cried because of the bad news, because I let my publisher down, because I wanted, needed this opportunity to meet booksellers from across the South. I cried because I had put a lot of pressure on myself to make Farming ten times more successful than my first book, In the Garden.

Honesty. That’s what y’all get in my posts. Nothing but honesty.

But life, and God, had other plans.

By the end of the day I was weary. I had fretted until my head hurt, until stomach acid burned the back of my throat. Then I received a text from Mercer saying, “Don’t worry, Olivia debelle Byrd  is at SIBA talking to booksellers about Farming. Who is Oliva debelle Byrd you ask? A stranger. She had never met me, hadn’t read a single word of my book, nor I of hers.

In other words, Oliva didn’t know me from Adam’s house cat.

But there she was, doing something that I daresay no one else would have done, she was talking about my book, and, her book. Want to know more about her? Read this link. She’s a pretty classy Southern lady.

Pause for a moment and think about this gift, this remarkable gift that Olivia bestowed upon me. For there is no greater gift than your time. So today, I am giving away a copy of Save My Place, Olivia’s latest book. I figured that the best way to say “Thank You” is to via my blog, and, throw in a copy of her book to you, my readers.

I am grateful, very grateful to Miss Olivia.

Here’s how this spur-of-the-moment contest works. Leave a COMMENT here, on my blog. I ask you to leave a comment here versus on Facebook because more people will see it here. Tell me what you think about Miss Olivia’s kindness, or let’s dig deeper shall we? Have you ever reached out to a random stranger? Share you story, so that others will be blessed.

And Miss Olivia, if you’re reading this post, I am in your debt.

I will award the book to a random reader on October 22nd. The winner must provide their mailing address (which will not be shared).

Renea Winchester is the award-winning author of Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches; Mountain Memories: True Stories and Half-Truths from Appalachia. Her first book, In the Garden with Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes earned her a SIBA and GAYA nomination.  Email her through her website at www.reneawinchester.com. She welcomes new friends on Facebook. Follow her on Twitter Here.

 

What is My New Book About?

Authors are often asked, “What is your book about?” The title of my latest book, Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches (hopefully) provides a clue. In this post I let images from the book launch describe exactly what the book is about. Mercer University Press released Farming on September 1st, and the Book Exchange in Marietta, Georgia helped me launch Farming into this big world on September 6, 2014. Now it is up to you, my readers, to decide if the book is worthy. For local readers, there are two more opportunities to meet me: September 11, at 11 am at Bookmiser in Roswell; September 13th from 1-4 at the Visitor Center at 617 Atlanta Street, Roswell, Georgia (parking in back of building); and September 16 at 6:30 at Fox Tale Book Shoppe in Woodstock, GA.

The week following a release is a nervous time. Will readers enjoy my stories? Will they be excited enough to tell others, to call their book clubs, to give it as a gift? Share this blog. Tell their neighbors, friends, preacher, and hairdresser?

Hope so. My success depends on you. Personal recommendations make books successful. So I now enter my time of waiting. Hoping. Praying that you enjoy my offering. Many will read the title, and judge Farming without opening the pages. My heart aches for those people, because this is what they are missing:

Notice eggs on table Photo by Donna Baker

Andrew Wordes, “The Chicken Man” and Mr. Ora Coleman were both dear friends of Billy’s

Photo by Donna Baker, who introduced me to Noemi’s Tamales. Noemi’s Tamales are mentioned in Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches

Heritage Corn: No GMO. Family grown since the 1800s Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Billy signing copies of the first book about him: In the Garden with Billy: Lessons about Life, Love, and Tomatoes Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Raymond Atkins made an appearance on his way to launch his own book at Fox Tale Book Shoppe in Woodstock GA. Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Forever Friends Photo by Kendall

And then Tara came, and I gained another sister.

You ask what Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches is about. This Dear One, answers that question.

Billy with Abbe who helped plant corn and okra Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Sister Betty and I modeling Polly Dolly’s beautiful aprons made from recycled jeans and shirts. Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Ana Raquel, mentioned in the book.

Forever Family Photo by Ronald Pilcher

Linger at this photo. Take it all in. If this image doesn’t make you want to buy a copy of my book, I shall cap my pen.

Image by Tracy Hoexter Photography

 

How to order: All bookstores can order a copy of this book for you. Find your local bookstore here.  For those who don’t have local bookstores in your area. Here, and here, are the online links. Please note that an electronic version will NOT release for a couple more months. Order directly through the publisher using this link. Plug in the word facebook, for a 20% discount and FREE shipping.

THANK YOU to everyone who captured images of the launch: Donna Baker, Ana Raquel, Carmen Slaughter, Ronald Pilcher, Tracy Hoexter Kendall my roving photographer, and many, many more. Hosting an outdoor launch on a working farm is an exhausting feat. Thank you to Crop-Mob Atlanta, Tina (who cut the grass with a push mower in 90+ degree heat), and to the Georgia Chapter of the Rescue Sisters who helped whenever I asked. Thank you to my sponsors, Botanical Interests and Growbest Plant food who offered freebies, and Noemi’s Tamales for agreeing to set up a booth and sell tamales. They were a hit. Thank you to Rita of Polly Dolly’s Creations who made lovely aprons from Billy’s worn-out clothing and used feed sacks, and Cotton Albertson whose Folk-Art carvings remind me of my favorite uncle. Much love to my beloved husband, and my daughter Jamie who worked the Dilly Bean and Cornmeal table. I am blessed, truly blessed.

Renea Winchester is the award-winning author of Mountain Memories: True Stories and Half-Truths from Appalachia. Her first book, In the Garden with Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes earned her a SIBA and GAYA nomination. Mercer University Press  released Farming, Friends, & Fried Bologna Sandwiches in September. Email her through her website at www.reneawinchester.com. She welcomes new friends on Facebook. Follow her on Twitter Here.

 

My July Reading List

It’s Summer: the perfect time to wiggle your toes into the sand and lay back in a lawn chair while reading a good book. I don’t know about you, but July is passing too quickly. There are so many books, and so little time. So let’s get to it. Here are my summer read suggestions.

NEW BOOKS YOU SHOULD READ:

From Erika Marks, It comes in waves:Y’all know how much I loved Erika’s book, Little Gale Gumbo, well now she’s written about Folly Beach! ESPN invites Claire back to Folly Beach for a documentary on women in surfing, Claire decides it might be the chance she needs to regain control of her life and reacquaint herself with the unsinkable young woman she once was. But not everything in Folly Beach is as Claire remembers it, most especially her ex-best friend, Jill, who is now widowed and raising her and Foster’s teenage son. An unexpected reunion with Claire will uncover a guilt that Jill has worked hard to bury—and bring to the surface years of unspoken blame. Visit Erika’s website to learn more and follow links to buy a copy of her book.

 

 

 

From Mary Alice Monroe, The Summer Wind: If you ever have the opportunity to meet MAM, take it. After penning 16 books, and pursuing her passion for the environment, she has earned a place in my heart. She loves Monarch Butterflies, Baby Turtles, and although I have never witnessed it, I bet she has physically hugged a tree just to say thank you for providing me shade. She writes about the South and its people like none other. Pick up a copy of any of her books. You’ll be glad you did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For those on a Staycation: Meet Grant Jerkins and Eula Shook: Listen up, because this is important. If you’re stuck at the pool with the kids. If you’ve just started a new job and you don’t have a vacation planned, and if you like a short story that is flawlessly written, drop everything and download a copy of Eula Shook right now. Then, you’ll do what everyone else has done, snatch up the phone, call your bookseller, and reserve a copy of Grant’s other books. What else is Grant working on? Something wonderful….of course. Visit his website to find out.

 

 

 

 

Don’t Talk to Strangers by Amanda Kyle Williams: For those who like a little tension and intrigue in their books, let me introduce Amanda Kyle Williams. Merciful heavens, take a look at the Book Trailer. Need I say more? You don’t have time reading what I have to say about this book, want to dive into Don’t Talk to Stranger. Available everywhere books are sold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And finally, about me:I am counting the days until the release of Farming, Friends & Fried Bologna Sandwiches. I am happy to release the cover to you first, before Facebook fans get a peek. The book will launch in September. However, you may preorder by clicking this link. While the website says Farming is “backordered” what that really means is printing hasn’t started. Preordering will guarantee that you receive a copy of Farming as soon as it comes off the press. Shipping is always free at Mercer University Press. For Amazon customers, I recommend ordering directly from the publisher. For those, like me, who are loyal to the brick and mortar buildings, all booksellers will  be able to order a copy of Farming. I am planning several events in Georgia and North Carolina, keep an eye on my website and do come see me.

Note: My selection process is one of personal taste. The authors chosen do not know of my selection and I do not receive compensation.

Renea Winchester is the award-winning author of Mountain Memories: True Stories and Half-Truths from Appalachia. Her first book, In the Garden with Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes earned her a SIBA and GAYA nomination. In September of 2014, Mercer University Press will release her next book titled Farming, Friends, & Fried Bologna Sandwiches. Email her through her website at www.reneawinchester.com. She welcomes new friends on Facebook. Follow her on Twitter Here.

Prayer Request: Aisle 12

Billy Albertson teaching students about growing their own food.

It wasn’t my usual grocery store, the one where I organize my coupons according to aisle, and can get in and out as fast as humanly possible. No. I dropped into this one because I was headed in that direction and needed to pick up a few items. I don’t like to dally at the grocery store, especially not with Thanksgiving just around the corner. I was standing on yon side of the store when an announcement came over the loudspeaker, “Billy Albertson come to the pharmacy.”

God has been doing this to me lately, dropping me in places where he can use me; like the gas station on Monday (more on that in another post), and the Christian Authors Guild on Monday night. He’s been pruning me, carving a little nick in my ear so that I will hear His call.

Knowing that there is only one Billy Albertson, and he isn’t on any medication, I drove my buggy to the non-yon side of the store eagerly anticipating one of those love-filled Farmer Billy hugs. Perhaps he was there for a flu shot, I thought. My stomach flipped and my heart hurt when Billy turned and I caught a glimpse of him.

He had aged, badly. His skin dull, lackluster. His stance, stooped over. His eyes tired.

“What in the world?” I asked while easing him toward the door. “What is going on with you?” Whatever he had, it was obvious he needed to be home.

“Doctor’s don’t know,” he pulled up his shirt sleeve revealing a puffy calamine-painted arm, “they’ve cut a hunk off’a me and sent it off.”

Dialing Daughter Number One I said, “Your father is ill. What is going on?”

I learned that Billy’s doctor-an incredible, and very competent and compassionate man- had spent two hours examining Billy, then sent him straight to the hospital earlier in the week for a variety of tests. Billy does not have shingles. Billy is home and for the family, neighbors, and concerned friends who may be reading this, we also need prayers for rest. According to all reports, no one really knows what is going on. This is a random ailment. All I know is that Billy is ill and he is not himself, and that we must wait for the biopsy results. Billy’s doctor is on this like a chicken on a June-bug, but the Great Physician is ultimately in charge.

Chicken Man and Friends: Mr. Coleman and Mr. Albertson on Book Launch Day

“You read in the Bible where Job took pieces of broken pots and scraped his skin,” Billy said. “I am in such agony I could scrap myself clean to the bone.”

Sounds like Chicken Pox doesn’t it? It also sounds like Shingles. Right now I do not know, neither do the doctors.

What I do know is that God put me in the grocery store, the one I never visit so I could be placed in Billy’s path; so I could ask you to pray. Even though the biopsy is marked STAT, the doctor doesn’t anticipate receiving the results until Friday. Would you join me in praying that the results come sooner? Would you ask that the doctor know how to treat Billy’s condition?

And would you please pray for healing?

Blessings to you!

Renea Winchester is the award-winning author of Mountain Memories; True Stories and Half-Truths from Appalachia. Her first book, In the Garden with Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes earned her a SIBA and GAYA nomination. In 2014, Mercer University Press will release her next book titled Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches. Email her through her website at www.reneawinchester.com

Wrestling: Round One

Doesn’t if often feel like we are in an exhausting wrestling match? We wrestle coats on our children and scoot them off to the bus stop. We wrestle with our bank account, stretching it as far as our meager balance will allow. We wrestle with our loved ones, who are often the source of our greatest heartache. We wrestle with the voices inside our heads, asking what path should we take? Or sometimes, how do I get out of this terrible situation. 

Lately, Dear Ones, I have been wrestling with God.

My battle is emotional, one that I will not share because it is close to my heart. I will, however, give you a few key words.

Cancer.

Mortality.

Regret.

Time.

Each word triggers something deep inside of me. My mother has bravely battled cancer for many years and it is her ultimate wrestling match that triggers a host of emotions. More than my struggles to raise a teenager; more painful that my concerns about money, and angst as I try to write fifty thousand words in my novel by November 30. I am wrestling with things I cannot control.

Don’t we all?

This week, I mentioned to a friend that “God is preparing me for something I am not yet ready to be prepared for. I am wresting with God.”

See that woman with her fingers in her ears, the one who refuses to listen . . . that is me.

But God allows wrestling matches. There’s even a story in the bible about Jacob wrestling with a man (who turns out to be God)

. In this story the man wrestled until daybreak and when the man saw that he could not overpower Jacob, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that the hip was wrenched.”(Genesis 32:24).

 

 

Each Friday my dear friend Kelle hosts a prayer group at her home from 11:45 until 12:15. Here are the rules:

• Show up
• No prayer requests
• Plug into God for 30 minutes through prayer
• Say Amen and go home

Now before y’all laugh, let me say this group of ladies are the most powerful Godly women I have ever met. As Kelle reminds us, “We need more of Him. Not more of our circumstances.” Kelle reads a scripture, or something that has been laid on her heart. We pray. We hug. We go home.

***

It’s 11:30 and I’ve been in my writing closet since 9:30. I’m kicking it this Friday, a rarity as Friday’s are mainly devoted to cleaning, laundry, and avoiding the novel in progress like the plague. As I pause from writing, I notice the time, roll my eyes and say in my heart, Ugh. Gotta go pray.

Did you pick up on that? Today. At 11:30, prayer was a burden.

Immediately I said (out loud), “God, look at me. What in the world is wrong with me . . . feeling like it’s a burden to pray. I don’t know what in the world you are going to do with me. Forgive me.

At Kelle’s, the living room is packed. She never knows who is going to show up, it’s a drop-in kind of gig. Some days it is two people. Some days, like today, the room can barely contain us. Kelle’s mom is here, a prayer warrior that lets her daughter lead, but holds onto my hand and pours every bit of anointing she can into my weary-from-wrestlin’ body. I had told Kelle’s mom about my wrestling, about my mom struggles, about knowing that one day I will be forced to prepare for that which I am not yet ready to prepare for.

Alexis opened with a reading from Streams In the Desert. Here is an excerpt: God allowed the crisis in Jacob’s life to totally surround him until he ultimately came to the point of making an earnest and humble appeal to God Himself. That night, he wrestled with God and literally came to the place where he could take hold of Him as never before . . .

Non-believers may roll their eyes, but I certainly didn’t.

Don’t mistake me. I am not saying that God allowed my mother to suffer with ovarian cancer so he could put me in my place or punish any of us. I am saying that the emotional turmoil I have felt this week has placed me in the ring with God.

It’s me and God, in my crying closet.

It’s me, and God.

Not me and my best-friends. Not me and my daughter. Not me and my husband. Not me and my pastor. It is me, and God.

Just like it’s Mom and God.

Just like it’s you and God.

And as the ladies prayed, they didn’t pray for prosperity. Didn’t pray for grace, or mercy. We PRAISED. Praised Him for who He is. Then, we prayed for Him. More of Him. That we would sit still in our crying closet. That we would let go. That we would cry uncle and reach out for more of him.

Because in the scripture, God didn’t pin Jacob to the mat and cram anything down his throat. He could have, but he didn’t. God allows us to wrestle with him, and today I find great joy in a God that would care enough about me to hang onto me even when I want to run into my crying closet and hold up there all by my lonesome. God knows what I need and it is more of him!

Leaving the prayer group, my thoughts were Oh, how the world is so broken! People of the world are wrestling. I would much rather wrestle with God than the world. God will not twist my arm until I cry uncle. He will not break me. Instead, he will reach out and wretch my heart. He will fill my heart with Him.

That dear ones, is what I want for each of you today.

God has a heart for the broken. When our hearts are broken, he hurts too.

He has a heart for you.

For your circumstance.

For your burden.

For your fear.

But most of all, he has a heart for you.

Whether in the crying closet, or the wrestling mat, it’s you and God.

Renea Winchester is the award-winning author of Mountain Memories; True Stories and Half-Truths from Appalachia. Her first book, In the Garden with Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes earned her a SIBA and GAYA nomination. In 2014, Mercer University Press will release her next book titled Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches. Email her through her website at www.reneawinchester.com

 

 

Day Five: On Being Thankful

I really don’t need the month of November to nudge me into feeling thankful. I am a cancer survivor, descended from two cancer warriors, thankfulness flows in my imperfect blood. I gladly joined Shellie Tomlinson when she asked me to participate in the 30 day Ambassadors For Life Campaign. Before you get bleary-eyed this cause is a simple one. Water.

There are folk in this world who need water.

Shellie wants to raise money to build two wells and thanks to the generosity of many, she is on her way. Please consider donating $ 10.00 today at this link: http://my.ambassadorsforlife.org/campaign/30Days/

Yesterday, I had a pregnant pause about want versus need. I was sitting in the orthodontist’s office with my daughter, and before you fire up an email to me about the expense of vanity braces let me say that my daughter’s lower teeth were so crooked that (by age eleven) the pressure had caused her gums to recede. My option was braces now, or gum replacement later. I chose the braces.

While waiting, I sifted through my pile of coupons. I am no coupon queen, but I do try to save every single dime I can, especially since the release of my third book is another year away and money is tight. (See above reference to braces).

Enter into the waiting room two women. These women travel a lot, and they are repainting the kitchen of a Florida home a lovely shade of white. One of them also needs a flu shot. They were loud talkers. While they both flipped through a single magazine one of the ladies stopped on a handbag she was interested in. “Oh, I couldn’t pay $ 600.00 for a purse,” the other woman said.

“I’ve got one just like it, only a different color. And, the purse isn’t $ 600.00. That’s the price for the wallet.”

Glancing down at my coupons, I couldn’t help but pause. Process. Wonder what makes people want to place that kind of money (their money) into the hand of another. Really. I do not understand. If I had six-hundred extra dollars I wouldn’t buy a new purse (or wallet).  I don’t want to come off as judgmental, but there are a lot of hurting people in this world. There are over 50 homeless kids in my daughter’s school. For those kids, six hundred dollars can put a roof over their heads.

So as I glanced back at my clipped coupons I had a gigantic thankful moment. I am thankful that I can see the hurting and the hungry, and those who are literally, dying because of unsanitary water. Today I ask you, please, if you are financially able, make a ten-dollar donation to the Ambassadors For Life program. If you are considering purchasing a six-hundred-dollar wallet, would you consider donating instead to the Ambassadors program? I believe that donating to this cause will bring you more satisfaction in your heart than carrying around a purse.

Renea Winchester is a descendant of the Ridley’s and the Winchester’s of Rabun County, Georgia. She is the author of Mountain Memories, a collection of stories about her Southern People. Her first book, In The Garden with Billy: Lessons about Life, Love and Tomatoes, earned her two prestigious nominations: Georgia Author of the year and the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance book of the year. In 2012, the Atlanta Pen Women named her Author of the year. Mercer University Press will release: Farming, Friends and Fried Bologna Sandwiches in 2014.

 

Movings Mountains (of paper)

There was something in the air yesterday. Something that made me, someone who refuses to get out of bed before the 6 o’clock alarm, pop out of bed at 4:30 am and begin the day.

Yesterday was moving day at my house. No, I am not relocating, I am moving things, purging, shuffling words on the page. By 6 o’clock I was deep in a pile of edits. I had a critique group meeting at 10 with my incredibly talented friends from the Atlanta Writers Club. I was wrapping up a revision of a short story I’m working on titled Rusty Spokes and Bicycle Wrecks. Then I finished editing my second short story collection which I will release in January.

Mountain Memories:

For those who purchased a copy of my latest release, Mountain Memories, let me say THANK YOU. If you haven’t purchased a copy you can do so at this link. Please, please share the link and tell your friends about this book.

I finished both collections months ago, knowing that readers needed something from me prior to Mercer University Press releasing my next book in 2014. But yesterday, in the midst of the short story edits, something else started brewing in my noggin’. Something so deliciously juicy I have gone and lost my mind.

Yes, Dear Ones, I am purging papers. I am actually throwing things away !

I have never posted a photo of my office. Nor do I intend to. My office is always a shambles. It’s the room where the dog sleeps, where I type at a table; not a desk (with drawers), but a table. Because of that, I have stacks (plural) of important documents. Some are stored in boxes, most are stacks.

My husband, God love him, is a patient, patient man.

This new story requires research, lots and lots of research. The kind of research where maps are necessary, a “spread-out” kind of deal that will could find me lying in the floor trying to chart where characters are going. But first, the characters have told me they need room to grow. Literally.

As an author who is also a book junkie, sprinkle into this messy office stacks of books. I have research books, books I have read (and loved hence I keep them near me). Stacks of books to be read. Stacks and stacks of stickedystacked books. (I know it’s not a real word, but you get the picture). My husband converted the largest bedroom upstairs into a library. There is no room. None. I need more shelves. Don’t even get me started on the books beside my bed. Again, stacks.

So yesterday, after the 4 am wake up and the 2 and a half hour critique group meeting, I sat down with my new characters and wrote a scene, by hand, which is my way. On an ordinary day I would have wanted a nap, would have needed to reboot my brain, but yesterday wasn’t an ordinary day. Energized, I then completed the edits for my short story collection and sent the entire manuscript to my author friend who had VOLUNTEERED to read the collection.

Now that’s a friend, Dear Ones. She is almost as good as my husband.

Then I returned to the new book scene. Still energized, and with only a single cup of tea in my system, I wrote another page stopping only when they insisted I start cleaning my office. When characters speak, authors listen; or at least they should.

I commenced to purging paper that which I once deemed important. Professional organizers know the best way to purge is designate “keep” and “toss” piles. But for writers it isn’t that simple. Everything I had could potentially generate content. Writers who are sensory creators need all of this “stuff” in order to create. The day I sit down to a clean desk will perhaps be my last day as an author.

But the characters, these new folk who wanted me to tell you their story, had other ideas. They weren’t going to speak to me until I cleaned up my office. Grabbing the trashcan, I tossed:

I still subscribe, I just don’t need these.

Rejection letters: why in the world would I want that reminder?

Newspaper clippings: c’mon now that’s just clutter.

Magazine Articles I’d written ten years ago: merciful heavens!

Magazines I had saved for years, (Sorry Poets & Writers, I still love you)

Class assignments: Duh, I graduated a long time ago.

I found:

Photos of my children that made me cry.

Excellent tips on writing that I should never have buried.

I kept, and organized:

Partially purged.

the manuscript from my first book. Knowing that soon, I would be eyeball deep in the edits of Farming, Friends and Fried Bologna Sandwiches, I threw out a large amount of the original manuscript for In the Garden with Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes. 

Really, I can see no good reason for keeping the MS for In the Garden. I’ll recycle the paper, print on the second side. I’ve already asked for paper and ink for Christmas this year. Until Santa comes, I’ll reuse and recycle.

Keeping all of this, just storing them in a more permanent home

I also sifted through clippings, magazine articles, any publicity from the first book and boxed it up.

I refer to some magazines for research, and have a small collection of maps from the 60s. Those I’m using for a different book. And, yes, if you have old maps from the late 60s I would love to have them. Not even joking.

While moving mountains of paper, I uncovered three separate books I began but didn’t pay attention to, so the characters died. I’ve bound those in notebooks with the promise to revisit once time allows.

While my office still looks like a tornado walked through it, I believe it is clean enough so that the characters of my work in progress can stretch their legs. I will sit down with them soon and my first question will be, “what do you think about the clean(er) office?

Renea Winchester is the award-winning author of Mountain Memories, an ebook which introduces you to her mountain people. She  is appreciative of all her readers, and thanks them for reading her work. She loves hearing from readers. In the fall of 2014, Mercer University Press will release, Farming, Friends and Fried Bologna Sandwiches, which features more stories from Farmer Billy Albertson. Visit Renea at www.reneawinchester.com

Mainely Musings: The Road-Trip North

After getting my mother-in-love settled down for two weeks of pet sitting, my husband and I dropped Jamie at my parents and away we went. My husband is from Tennessee, I from western North Carolina. We both grew up hiking the hills and hollers of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Here in Atlanta, each new development, each grind of the chainsaw presses hard on us. But the road trip…my friends, the road trip restored our faith that –at least for now-the entire world isn’t being raped and paved over to make way for a new shopping center.

It goes without saying that I am IN LOVE with farms. Why else would I write about farmers. As the car headed for the Northern Country, the burden of living in the city slowly slipped away. Everywhere we looked farms flanked the interstate.

As an aside, if you’re a farmer in Tennessee, Virginia or Pennsylvania and you care to put me up for a week (heck even a weekend) I’m your huckleberry farm hand. I may be only five feet tall, but I can do something to help out (just ask Farmer Billy here in Atlanta). I especially want to visit during corn harvesting time. Planting time also interests me. Y’all know I’m serious. If you know a farmer in the area, share this blog, direct them to my website where they can contact me. My reason is simple, farmers are givers and sometimes my soul needs to be around folk that respect the land. Now don’t go off half-cocked and tell me about the evils of GMOs. I know that. You know that. We all know that. I’m talking about farmers that have busted the dirt for decades, held on to their acerage because it was their dad’s land, and their grand pappy’s land before that. Men clad in stained overalls that refuse to sell their land for the installation of another strip mall.

There is one particular farmer in Tennessee, whose name I do not know, that erected a sign on their property NOT FOR SALE. I really want to meet that farmer. I want to shake his (or her) hand, hug their neck, bunk in the barn until Jesus comes back.

Farmers give life. Farmers partner with land. Both work hard to feed a hungry. Being near them restores my soul. I don’t guess too many Farmers have a 401k plan. They’ll retire when they’re planted in the ground they love.

Whew, I didn’t expect to get off and chase a rabbit through the corn. Beg your pardon. I told ya’ll in the first post that I really needed some time away from the city.

My husband, who is not known for many words because I am always rattling off at the mouth, said “I didn’t know huge chunks of land like this still existed.”

We marveled, truly marveled at the beauty of cornfields, of sweet tater vines (they probably call them yams, but my people call them sweet taters). Cows enchanted us, and the barns…lawd have mercy, it was all I could do to keep from yelling “STOP THE CAR!” just so I could touch a piece of rough hewn lumber. I am IN LOVE with farm country.

As we traveled through the Shenandoah Valley, my husband asked, “Do you think all of this undeveloped land is National Park or Forest land?” my husband asked.

Shaking my head, I replied, “Don’t know.” I secretly wished that I were driving. I would have long since pulled over and parted the barbed-wire fencing.

One of many beautiful scenes in Maine

It didn’t matter if the land was a National Park or if the dirt was working hard to feed us. What did matter was that during our two-day drive from Atlanta to Maine we felt the stress of city life and the dissatisfaction of eternal busy-work slowly slip away. Maine called and we hurried to answer her call.

Renea Winchester is the author of In the Garden with Billy: Lessons about Life, Love & Tomatoes. In 2014 Mercer University Press will release Farming, Friends & Fried Bologna Sandwiches. She loves hearing from you. Feel free to share this blog post, leave comments, or contact her directly through her website.