Happy Thanksgiving to my friends and family in the US, and Happy Holidays to all of you around the world. I’m blessed to have each of you as a friend.

This month, I have much to be thankful for. (Not the least of which is that I’ve recently learned it’s acceptable to end a sentence with a preposition!)

Our annual writers’ conference was scheduled for the beginning of November, near Sacramento, but since I had broken my kneecap, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go. Thanks, Christine, for chauffering me.

Every year since my mom invited me in 2008, I’ve attended this conference. Throughout high school and college, I took only the basic writing classes, because I never considered myself a writer. My mom and sister–they’re the writers in the family. So, I soak up all the information I can in the workshops.

During each of the last three years, I’ve met with an editorial agent (a perk of the conference) to talk about the possibility of publishing my memoir. However, my queries have been met with polite rejection. Apparently, traditional publishing houses only take memoirs from people who are already famous.

Awards are given out for the best entries in various categories including fiction, nonfiction, memoir, and poetry. Additionally, special recognition awards go to Mentor of the Year, Unsung Hero, Promising New Writer, and Author of the Year.

An Unexpected Award

This year, I was stunned to hear my name called out to receive the Unsung Hero award. Each year, it’s given to “an individual who selflessly serves the Christian writing community.” It was such a surprise, and I truly felt others were more deserving. Thank you so much for the honor. It’s a pleasure for me to support other authors, comment on their posts, and share their accomplishments–especially when it gives me an excuse to procrastinate and put off working on my writing projects!

Through the training in the workshops, I’ve strengthened my story-telling abilities. Initially, I spew out a brain dump of a memory. Next, I flesh it out with details, but it’s still just straight narration. Finally, I turn it into a cinematic scene. I include conversation the best I remember it, add descriptions of the characters and setting, and make it come alive with movement, sounds, and smells.

For fun, I’ll share with you this memory that came up yesterday in our Facebook group for Kent Academy (KA) in Nigeria. During all my years at KA, my nemesis was Debb Forster. She was full of life and laughter—also loud, brash, and full of pranks. The tall, sturdy redhead didn’t have a mean bone in her body, but I thought she was unkind because she seemed to pick on me. Since we shared the same first name, everybody assumed we’d be best buddies. I’ll let you judge the quality of our friendship by the snippet below from third grade there at KA. 

Earlier this week, Debb had posted a video clip of someone dipping a finger into a jar of marmite and pulling out a big glob of the gooey substance.

Marmite—A Trick or a Treat?

Her caption was: Tuck shop and candy cupboard days when we’d get our fingerful glob of Marmite! Oh the memories!

I quickly responded: Debb, you were the one who made me hate Marmite! One Saturday afternoon in third grade, you came into my room and convinced me to take a big fingerful of the black, tarry stuff. I put the whole blob in my mouth, licked my finger clean, and swallowed. Then I gagged. And gagged. I sprinted across the hall to the bathroom sink, spit it out, and rinsed, rinsed, rinsed my mouth. But the salty, tarry, nasty taste would not go away.

You laughed uproariously and said, “Debbie, you were supposed to lick a bit off, little by little. You don’t swallow the whole batch at once!”

Then I added this final memory: A year later, you offered me a taste again, and I took just the tiniest spot of the stuff on my fingertip, and that was tolerable. Week after week, you persisted, and I finally came around to loving Marmite almost as much as you first promised I would.

In our Kent Academy Facebook group, there’s a small war being waged between those for whom Marmite was a beloved childhood treat and others for whom the substance was a stinky, obnoxious poison. Or as my friend Dan Robinson declared, “It’s the toe jam of foul trolls from the pit of Hades.” Then he added, “It’s been 48 years and I still shudder and become nauseous just thinking about it.”

In my next blog post, I’ll add a fun story about Debb Forster and black licorice.

Writing Mentors are a Treasure

Today, I want to say a big “thank you” to Susy Flory, one of my writing mentors and the director of the WCCW annual conferences. Thanks also to Cheryl Thompson, Jeanette Hanscome, and Jon Drury who were my first mentors from that 2008 conference. Congratulations to my friends who won awards for their writing: Brenda Wilbee, Christine Hagion-Rzepka, and Kim Lavoie.

I’m grateful for friends from KA who are writers themselves and have encouraged me on my journey: Britta Werner Vogler, Elizabeth Jackson Quinn, Maribeth Poole, Olapeju (Peju) Simoyan, and Ruth Frame VanReken. And of course, congratulations to my mom, Marcella Jones, who recently published her life story.

To all my readers, your support and encouragement mean so much to me. May each of you have moments of joy today.

My heart goes out to you who have experienced loss, grief, and suffering these past weeks and months.

I’m sending you hugs, and I wish for peace and strength for you throughout this upcoming holiday season.