Janet Morris Grimes, Author

Janet Morris Grimes – Writing for the Pursuit of Sappiness

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Greater Philadelphia Christian Writer’s Conference

Aug 22

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It’s been a week now since I left the conference, but some things are so powerful that it takes a while to let it all sink in, to let it simmer, to find a way to absorb and process all that I learned.

My journey began a few weeks prior to this conference, when I was awarded a scholarship to attend if I would cover the cost of getting there, room and board. Though getting there proved challenging because of the Ohio/Pennsylvania Turnpike that required $35 in cash only toll charges each way, I made the ten hour drive with just enough time to change clothes in my minivan and freshen up a bit before my first class began.

My first class was on “practicing your pitch,” or finding a sentence or two to sum up our book ideas when presenting them to editors and agents. The instructor was brilliant with her questions, playing Devil’s Advocate and shocking us all into silence while we stammered through the reasons why we were writing. I came out of that with a much better idea of what I was hoping to accomplish, and a keen awareness of how ill-prepared I was for what was to come.

There were about 300 of us in attendance, all hoping to accomplish the same thing-drumming up interest in an unpublished book that we have already invested years of our lives to write. And if there is no interest, there is no hope for publish–ment.

I can only describe the appointments we had with the experts as speed-dating; there were 30 tables in one large room and we took turns sitting down in 15 minute increments to discuss the possibilities. It was nerve-wracking, and at times, as equally uncomfortable for the experts as it was for us.

But after going through five of these appointments, I can only view it as a success. One person spent several minutes with me, after pointing out how my book needs to be refocused, telling me that I was on the right track and brainstorming with me on ways to market it when finished.

“Those who persist, eventually become published,” she said, giving an extra bonus of just what I needed to hear.

“You have the heart and eye of a writer,” said another, “but there are some things I would change.”

“I’d be interested in seeing your proposals when you are finished, but for today, can I pray for you and your journey?” asked an agent, who had the sweetest spirit of anyone I had ever met.

“Do you know how many people this could help, if it is written in just the right way?” another responded.

“Do one new thing each day, and you might just find yourself with a writing and speaking ministry,” said another.

“Writing is a gift; a responsibility; a chance to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. It’s not about your story as much as it is about your reader,” said the speaker in one of the keynote sessions.

I could go on and on if I took just a minute to review my notebook full of notes. So much meat that it takes a while to chew it all.

Basically, I have much to do but met a lot of great people who can help me get there, when I’m ready. They said not to rush it. The process is slow, and you only get one chance to debut.

“Make it count,” they told me.

It was everything I needed, and so much more. I was more than intimidated, but tried not to let it show.

Because I was on a scholarship, I felt as if I owed it to the man who sent me there, Cec Murphy, author of the book 90 Minutes in Heaven, to take advantage of every opportunity given to me. I spoke to strangers when my shyness told me not to. I avoided awkward lunch and dinner moments by asking these experts about their lives, their families, and their journeys. I attended every session possible, and absorbed it like a sponge. I was determined to make Cec, a man whom I have never met, proud of me.

And I was forever changed.

Maybe what changed is knowing someone important believed in me. Maybe I understand now that the written word can outlive all of us, so not writing is no longer an option. It’s not about becoming famous, and definitely not about becoming rich, but rather about the process of always becoming more than you were before. Writing things that touch the heart of my readers, and helping them to become more than they were before as well.

Honored. Humbled. Hopeful. I’m ready to get to work.

Thank you so much for being there,

Janet Morris Grimes

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Thresholds

Aug 5

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Threshold – a door or entryway. The beginning point or outset.

My life of writing brings me to this point. As I step over this threshold for the first time, I wonder how this can be the beginning when it has taken so long to get here.

Next week I am attending my second Writer’s Conference. But this is the big one. Several hundred lifelong writers meet in Philadelphia to learn to do this better, but more importantly, we come to present our ideas to editors and publishers. To bridge the gap between writing and publishing, hoping our words will escape out into the world and make a difference in the heart of our readers.

I am only one of many. My dreams are their dreams.

But my words are not their words. My path is not their path.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that I am the only one who can tell my stories. I have to take this step alone.

Does that make me special enough? Different enough? Am I polished enough? Are my words ready for public consumption?

I am raw. A lifelong writer new to publishing. I hope they don’t notice. I hope they see a seasoned professional, or at least the possibilities of finding one within me.

What I do know is that a year ago, I would have never imagined being at this point; so close to the threshold.

I could choose to walk past it and wait until I am ready.

But that would be like the time I chickened out before cheer leading tryouts back in Junior High; removing myself from the possibility before I even tried.

I may not have made the squad back then; but by not trying, the outcome was certain.

I will never make that mistake again.

I will step over this threshold and place my words in the hands of people who know what to do with them.

Regardless of what happens, I will walk away as a better writer with more connections within the publishing world from people who crossed over the threshold long before me.

But more important, I will walk away a risk taker. A writer seeking her readers.

A threshold crosser.

Once I cross over, there is no going back.

Thank goodness.

I covet your prayers as I take the next step.

Keeping the Faith,

Janet Morris Grimes

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Clocking Out

Jul 31

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Incurable Disease of Writing article for July.

http://www.incurablediseaseofwriting.com/?p=3985

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Fathers. More valuable than they realize.

Jun 12

Posted by Janet Morris Grimes in Essay | 9 Comments

Father’s Day has a way of bursting through any barriers around my heart and releasing my feelings to splash all over the page  before me. A gift of a tear or two to cleanse the soul–or at least, my soul….

There are a million things we never had the chance to do together.

Piggyback rides. Pillow fights. Accidentally sledding into a tree. Saturday morning hair muffed by pajama-clad laziness. Wobbly first bike rides. Motivational lectures in 6 week increments to inspire me to get better grades. Outrunning the lightning bug brigade at dusk. Walking on the beach hand in hand, reflecting on years of quirky  nothingness. Unreasonable teen-aged dress codes. Arguments that ended with a slammed door and echoes of “You just don’t understand me.”  Spastic first car rides with me as the driver, complete with minor trash-can crash endings. My baptism. Spontaneous father-daughter dances to the music in our heads. And the most treasured walk together down the aisle as he escorts me to the threshold of adulthood.

So many unfulfilled moments, but it was not his fault. You see, Daddy was the victim of a traffic fatality back in 1967 when I was just six-months-old. It was never his choice to be absent, but he was gone just the same.

As required by its very existence, life moved on for our small family of three; my mother, my sister and me. Mommy was the center of our universe, a role not easily fulfilled, but she mastered it beautifully. She placed our needs before her own on a daily basis; her soft but practical approach to life gently masking her inner strength.

Still, my father was my hero; or at least, my fairy-tale version of him was.  With no memories to call my own, I could create him into whomever I wanted for that particular day. He was as big, strong, protective, understanding and gentle as I needed for him to be. If he had been here, I was certain he could do no wrong. He was my knight in shining armor.

So, I was stunned when someone once asked me, “Have you forgiven your father for being gone?”

Excuse me?

To forgive him would require me to admit anger for his absence, and as a child, I could never have done that. As a grown-up, after years of watching other people’s daddies, however, I began to understand it. As a matter of fact, I now consider myself an expert on this subject of fathers.

No matter the setting, I was quick to notice any father in my vicinity as he swept his teeter-tottering child off his feet. Some daddies were tough, intimidating until the giggle of an adoring son awakened the twinkle in their eyes. Others were expressionless at first, battling the screaming deadlines of the corporate world, but as soon as they were challenged to a race across the playground, their faces melted with escaping joy.

But soon, I noticed the broken fathers as well. Fathers without children. Children without fathers. Barely existing in worlds far apart from each other.

For someone who would travel across the world, if necessary, if my Daddy was out there somewhere, I wondered how this could be.

But I get it now; few fairy-tale fathers exist. Sometimes dads mess up. Sometimes they walk away, convinced that their kids are better off without them. Sometimes their kids are taken from their lives and they never get the chance to seek forgiveness. Years pass with no contact because both the father and the child feel unwanted.

Relationships are complicated, and I never had to walk in the footsteps of anyone who has been hurt by their own father. Still, if I could line up all the broken fathers across from all their broken children, regardless of their age, this is what I would say to the them:

Life is harder than expected.  The past hurts, but the future does not have to; at least, not as much. Get mad. Tell your Dad he let you down, just when you needed him most. Tell him you needed him to protect you, and that you want to trust him. Tell him he is difficult to talk to, and you just need for him to listen. Do whatever it takes to make tomorrow better.

And Dads, God chose you to be a father, and He will show you how to do it if you let Him. Your presence means much more than your perfection. Forgive yourself, so that your kids can do the same. You need each other. You always have. You always will. Treasure your moments, for they are truly priceless.

I guess the little girl in me still longs for a happy ending for everyone’s fairy tale. 

If only I could stand across from my own father, and say these simple words:

Just hold me, and never let go.

Yes. That is exactly what I will tell him one day, when we meet face to face.

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Building a Platform of Words

Jun 9

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Every day, I write. And every day, I learn something new about this business known as publishing.

My largest hurdle to date is known as a platform. My platform is my sphere of influence. My way of reaching readers. Like a performer on a stage; I must be able to prove to a publisher that someone will show up when it is time for me to sing. A lot of someones, preferably.

So, instead of writing a book that will draw people towards my stories, the publishing business now wants it to be the other way around. “Show us your audience, and we will help you publish a book.”

In other words, it’s no longer “If you build it, they will come.” Now the people must come first, and then we can build it.

“Establish yourself as an expert,” they tell me, “and then get back to us.”

So, what exactly am I an expert on?

This is what I’ve come up with so far:

I’m an expert on loving.

I’m an expert on learning things the hard way; on making mistakes but finding God in the midst of them anyway.

I’m an expert on recognizing deep feelings in emotions in others, and being so moved that I have no choice but to write about them.

I’m an expert on raising kids, or at least my kids. I know them, inside and out, and am honored to present them to you as beautiful, compassionate people who make the world around them a better place.

I’m an expert on marriage, or at least my marriage. Happily ever after takes work, but it is so worth fighting for.

I’m now an expert on finances, but only because I have mismanaged them in the past and now find myself unemployed for the first time since I was fifteen years old.

I’m an expert on finding a good perspective. You can thank my parents for that. The death of my father when I was a baby pointed me toward heaven from the start. And my mother demonstrated how to survive and overcome; to show up every day and give it my best shot. Once you figure out the big things in life, the small stuff doesn’t bother you much.

I’m becoming an expert on de-cluttering and organizing the home. Not so much by doing it but by studying the practices of those who do, and choosing the best 65,000 words to explain how to follow suit for my first book project. (Atlantic Publishing – The Parent’s Guide to Uncluttering the Home – to be released early in 2011, I believe.)

I’m an expert on listening for stories that beg to be shared. And these stories only matter because they are true. We need to better understand each other as we walk side by side through this life, and nothing brings us together like the power of our stories.

But without any pre-existing fame, none of this matters much to the publishing industry. Yet.

So , I won’t be chasing fame any time soon. I will just continue to chase down my stories, and trust them to speak for themselves. I will hammer them together until they make a platform.

A platform. Like a performer on a stage, but don’t worry, there will be no singing….

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Funny Grimes Family Vacation Photo

Jun 2

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This was published on 06/01 on the travel website for aol.com. Scroll down to see a photo of my crazy little family. They make my heart smile.

http://news.travel.aol.com/2010/06/01/say-cheese-photos-you-hoped-would-never-surface-from-a-vacatio/

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Somewhere Under the Rainbow…

May 4

Posted by Janet Morris Grimes in Essay | 19 Comments

Photo courtesy of Brent Rolen

Photo courtesy of Brent Rolen

Nashville is drowning. Nashville is hurting. Nashville is bruised and dirty, drenched first by water and then by mud. Nashville silently suffered, going ignored by the national media for days, as the waters rose too quickly, receded too slowly, and still have yet to reveal the true toll the floods have taken in lives lost and the loss of property.

But still, my beloved Nashville shines brightly.

And if you watch her people closely, they will demonstrate to the world what it means to be a true neighbor. Floods do not choose their victims in random fashion, like a tornado. Floods choose their victims unilaterally, by taking everyone in its deepening and widening path. There are few area residents who were left untouched by this tragedy. They are all in this together.

The true heroes who are still too busy to share their own stories are the rescue workers of the Police and Fire Departments, along with those of the Office of Emergency Management. The countless tales of boat rescues will remain untold until the danger has finally passed. In many cases, the conditions worsened so quickly that the workers themselves had to be rescued. But saving a life is worth the risk, and these heroes confront such dangers on a daily basis, never expecting the acknowledgment and thanks they so deserve.

For outsiders, it is important to notice the typical stories that are not coming from this tragedy. Neither race nor social class has become an issue. Vandalism and theft have not been a problem. Residents voluntarily conserved their running water before mandatory sanctions were put in place. Those who were left safe and dry immediately jumped into action to help those who were not as fortunate, by handing out bottled water, providing transportation, or simply helping to locate any salvageable items from these homes. Volunteers showed up at Red Cross shelters as soon as each location was announced to the public so they could prepare for those who would be arriving shortly. Entire families who were left homeless showed up with their only possessions being the soaked clothes on their backs, some with their traumatized pets in tow. But they were met with smiles, hugs, and neighbors ready to spread the word as to what supplies were needed most.

Sheets, blankets, clothing, pillows and children’s toys arrived in droves, and will be provided until they are no longer needed. The healing and rebuilding will go on for months. Long after anyone is watching, these actions will continue. The people of Nashville will unite and overcome, and the city itself will be stronger because of it.

I now admire my beloved Nashville from a distance, but it will always be my home. It is heartbreaking to see cherished and historical landmarks surrender one at a time to the powerful and damaging waters. The Opryland Hotel is ruined, and will remain closed for months. The Grand Ole Opry lost the hallowed stage that holds the past, present and future of Country Music. Titans stadium, which is known as LP Field, held water up to the first row of seats. Signature downtown businesses such as the Wild Horse and Old Spaghetti Factory still wait for the water to recede so they can assess the damage.

The images are devastating and the landscape of the city will be changed forever.

But the people remain, and they are what makes this place so special.

I listened to Eva Cassidy’s version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow earlier today, and could not help but think of the beautiful hills of Tennessee as I reflected those lyrics.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high,
There’s a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

You know what they say about a rainbow; if you follow it to the end, you will find treasure.

The skies are finally blue in Nashville again, and the treasure that waits under this rainbow are her people; their unselfish hearts and all-hands-on-deck approach to disaster are truly golden. And extremely rare.

I pray that the people in and around this beautiful city dare to dream again soon. In the meantime, may God bless and heal them just as He is using them to bless others.

Matthew 5:14 “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.

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My First Greeting Card?

Apr 21

Posted by Janet Morris Grimes in Essay | 1 Comment

As most of you know, I attended my first American Christian Writer’s Conference this past June. When I returned, life as I knew it changed completely. I came away from that experience knowing I had to do two things:

1) Announce to the world that I was a writer.
2) Put every idea of a story I ever had in writing, and submit it to someone.

This would take me past the point of no return. There is no going back. My stories could no longer be ignored; at least not by me.

So, that very next week, I began a process of submitting poems to a greeting card company. For as long as I can remember, I had difficulty finding a card to say exactly what I wanted to say, so I just wrote my own stuff.

I quickly received “contracts” on seven of them, and would jump up and down with excitement, joking about how tired my hand was getting of signing my name.

But like I said before, writing is the easy part. The business of publishing is much more difficult to understand. The contracts state that my poems are moving on to the “marketing review” process, and they have two years to decide whether or not they will purchase them. I pictured a group of people sitting around a table reading over greeting cards, wondering why it would take two years to decide.

So, I quickly moved on to other things.

But then, a couple of weeks ago, 8 months after my first contract was signed, I received an interesting e mail from a lady saying she had purchased a greeting card with one of my poems and wished to buy a poster of it.

I have a greeting card?

I was confused at first. The title didn’t match the one I had submitted, and the poem was a condensed version. It was also under a different brand name of greeting cards, a smaller imprint division, I suppose.

She said she purchased it in a dollar store in West Virginia. The title, “My Child, You are Destined for Great Things.” And the back said “Character Imprints.”

I reread the contract and realized that they do have the right to sell this while it is under consideration. At first, I wondered if I was being taken advantage of, and wanted to be paid if they are making money off of one of my poems. But it makes sense for a marketing review process to include testing the waters to see if there is interest. So, I’m okay with all of it. Actually, I’m thrilled with all of it, even if it turns out that I am being taken advantage of.

Because I am a beginning writer, and I have a greeting card with my name on it. And the best part is that it touched someone enough for them to track me down and ask for more.

And whether this company decides to purchase my poems at the end of this process or not, I am still one step closer to my goals.

But just to make sure, I am making a quick trip to West Virginia to search through all the dollar stores for more cards. Since they are testing the waters, I would hate for them to think there is no interest, right?

Thank you all for being a part of this confusing little  journey.

Keeping the Faith,

Janet Morris Grimes

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Laying it all on the table….

Mar 31

Posted by Janet Morris Grimes in Essay | 2 Comments

A quick thank you to Helen Chisam, who was my 667th Facebook fan. I found it somewhat unsettling when the number was stuck on 666 for a couple of days. Ha.

Well, Malloree and I head to Tennessee tomorrow to spend spring break with beloved family and friends. We can never seem to get enough of that Nashville love.

But on April 9th and 10th, I will be attending a Writer’s Mentoring Retreat out where Opryland should still be.

It is there that I will lay it all out on the table: my writing project for the past six months; the story that wakes me up at night and begs to be told.

A table of six wanna-be writers along with a seasoned professional stomping all over my naked words to reveal to me what works and what does not. They will point out when and where I missed the boat. And they will most likely hurt my feelings.

I feel as if I’m tossing pictures of my kids down and asking them to be evaluated by strangers. I beg for an opinion, but deep down, I believe my kids are perfect and need no improvement.

The only thing I want to hear about either my kids and my stories is how amazing they are and how they will truly make this world a better place.

But the truth is that my children are not quite perfect, and my story is not yet ready.

Both me and my story will step away from the table very different than when we began this journey. Exposure and experience tend to have that effect.

But we will be ready to take the next step. As iron sharpens iron, this is what we need so we can grow into who we were intended to be all along.

I can’t wait to share my story with you, when the proper time comes.

But until then, can I interest you in a picture of my kids?

Happy Easter– a season of new beginnings and hope. Family, friends, Nashville and writing. As close to Heaven as I can get.

Keeping the Faith,

Janet

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Finding My Voice at She Speaks….

Mar 22

Posted by Janet Morris Grimes in Essay | No Comments

SheSpeaks.Button_2

They say that a writer must find her own voice; her own way of telling stories that somehow pulls the words from the pages directly into the hearts of her readers. This is my desire as a writer; never to simply explain my feelings, but to invite you along for the journey so that you may feel them as well. I long to tell stories that matter; the kind that keep speaking to the heart long after the book is closed.

My writer’s voice has been screaming at me since I was a child. My role has always been to interpret my experiences so that others may join in. Writing is what I am. It is what I do on a daily basis; lest I implode.

After recently facing unemployment for the first time since I was 15-years-old, my writing dreams finally wrestled me into submission, forcing me to cry “Uncle” before allowing me off the ground to brush myself off and give thanks for the career path that has now chosen me. No longer content to remain a hobby placed on the back burner, my writing demands my full attention on a daily basis, gaining strength with each treasured word.

My journey to Publishment took an interesting turn when I was awarded a write-for-hire project through Atlantic Publishing. My first book project will be entitled, The Parent’s Guide to Uncluttering the Home, not necessarily what I consider to be a story that touches the heart. Still, it offers validation as an author, my chance to work with an editor and meet someone else’s deadlines, and strengthen my writing muscles along the way.

But what happens next?

What I hope happens next, as my devotionals and articles on faith, family and learning about life the hard way seep into the hearts of my readers, is that I find a new way to share my voice.

By speaking. In person. With a clear and unmistakable voice.

Stories are powerful. Face to face encounters matter for a lifetime. Relationships are the only thing we get to take to Heaven with us. And by meeting my readers, hearing their stories and looking into their eyes, my words can then grow, becoming a ministry. Because behind it all is not my desire to be famous, but rather my desire to make God famous. If I do this correctly, the deeper I get into my relationship and my story, the more of God you will find.

Whether the topic is uncluttering the home, growing up without my father, having a baby at seventeen while married and still a senior in high school, or the latest that God is teaching as we have moved four states away from the only home we have ever known, I am ready to tell my story. In person. With a strong new voice and a growing ministry.

The She Speaks Conference, sponsored by Proverbs 31 Ministries, would be a huge first step for me with my speaking endeavors. For additional information on their scholarship contest and the conference itself, please see the links below.

http://lysaterkeurst.blogspot.com/2010/03/she-speaks-scholarship-contest.html

http://shespeaksconference.blogspot.com/

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