My Dog Has a Broken Gear

Since childhood I have loved collies. One thing I love about them is their graceful, effortless trot.

I have been blessed enough in life to have been owned by several collies: Esther, Abby, Scot. All of them have exhibited that lovely gait that no other dog can emulate. And then there’s Savannah.

Savannah has owned us since puppyhood. She does not trot. She plods. She gallops. The trot is missing.

Because she is a blue merle—meaning her coat is black and grey—and because she plods, people mistake her for an old dog. She is seven. She has been mistaken for an old dog for years.

My writing resembles Savannah’s plodding. Thankfully I now have 49 books published, but, oh, those early years. I have a folder of rejection slips I’ve saved—150 of them. I don’t know how many I threw away before I started saving them. One east coast publisher wrote me a kind rejection letter for my children’s book, “Hubert the Friendless Snake.” I inundated him with children’s book manuscripts, none of which have ever been published.

I decided the solution was to get a literary agent. I got one. A crook. He took $150 for zero efforts and results and refused to return it. I desperately wanted to show up on his doorstep and demand a refund. But the logistics and travel expense of reaching North Carolina from Texas ultimately defeated that idea of revenge. I’ve since discarded that manuscript.

Then there was the publishing company that did accept one of my children’s book manuscripts. It held it for more than a year before deciding that the market had changed and they couldn’t use it. I still have it—several versions of it along with some beautiful illustrations an artist in Nevada did for me.

Enter the publishing company that accepted the first two of my Miz Mike cozy mystery-romance books. I wrote a total of eight books for that series. The publishing company promised to release them six months apart to build the momentum and keep it going. They published the first one. Two years later I was still waiting for the second release. It was released, but when the publishing company went bankrupt, I took back my rights to both books. I rewrote the books, hired an illustrator to do new covers, and changed to self-publishing. All the rest of the eight Miz Mike books were released quickly. I changed the title of the second Miz Mike to “Dead Body in a Pickup Truck,” which was what I wanted to call it from the start. The publishing company had deemed that title unsuitable. Dead Body in a Pickup Truck now has 23 ratings on Amazon with a 4.5 average. It is dedicated to my late son, Marine Corps Major Luke Parker, and includes the prophetic poem he wrote a year before his plane crash.

Plodding. I do my best to encourage other writers who want to give up. Plodding is difficult, both in writing and in dog walking. Take walking Savannah. When she plods in front of me, I have a tendency to run over her because she’s so slow. When she walks behind me, I need to stop frequently to let her catch up. And her gallop? It is so unexpected that she snatches the leash handle right out of my hand.

If you are reading this and you are a plodding writer, don’t give up. Even plodding writers experience explosions of success and joy.

Collies are my favorite breed of dog—even when they are missing gear. My favorite Psalm is Psalm 27. Verse 14 encourages, “Wait! On the LORD; be of good courage and He shall strengthen your heart. Wait, I say, on the LORD!”

Amazon.com: Stephanie Parker McKean: books, biography, latest update

Problems with Facebook

A lot of folks complain about Facebook. I never have. It’s free. Why should I complain about something when I’m not contributing to it?

I don’t know when it changed, because with writing new books and taking care of a husband who has blood cancer, Parkinson’s, and vascular dementia and is unable to weight-bear—plus walking a dog since we have no yard—I stay rather occupied. Sometimes it takes me several days to find enough free time to cut my fingernails.

The point is that I suddenly noticed that Facebook had changed my profile from author to “digital creator.” Now that is funny. Computers are as much of a mystery to me as math. What I know about computers is how to turn them on—and even that is iffy if it isn’t my computer—write a book, save it, and email it to my editor. I can even download the cover the illustrator sends me and send it to the editor. That’s all. I only visit internet sites if I am researching for a book. I don’t download anything on my 15-year-old laptop computer—which is running out of memory—and I don’t have a mobile phone, “smart,” or otherwise.

When I noticed the FB shift, I decided to rectify it immediately. Back to why it was so funny to designate me as a digital creator. I didn’t know how to change the change. Before I knew it, FB had changed it itself. It decided I was a government agency. With everything that is going on in the world at the moment, that’s not funny—it’s scary.

Changing it again was no easier than the first time because the computer program running Meta had no category for author. Authors must be an endangered species.

Now I finally have a working profile that fits me better—writer. I’ve dreamed of being an author all my life—at least from the time I was eight—so it seems a bit disappointing to settle for “writer” rather than “author”—but at least I’m not looking over my shoulder because I’m listed as a government agency—so I will return to not complaining about FB in spite of the seemingly random and unnecessary changes it makes constantly.

I have a new book coming out in a few weeks. A powerful, hard-hitting mystery that does not ignore the correlation between child abuse and crime. My FB label—writer or author—really doesn’t matter just so readers buy the book.

Labels change. People change their ideas about labels. One thing never changes. God. People give Him many labels, but He is the Lord God, Creator of the universe.

“He knows the way that I take; When He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold. He is unique, and who can make Him change?” Job 23:10 & 13.

No matter what label anyone or anything attaches to me, it can’t change what God created when He made me and called me to write books.

Amazon.com: Stephanie Parker McKean: books, biography, latest update

Not Offended

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Still find it hard to believe that the British Medical Association told its staff not to use the term ‘expectant mother’ as it could offend transgender people.

We are heading toward a future population who will find cause to be offended at myriad incidents instead of using the opportunity of opposition to grow in strength and character.

Like any other “handicapped” child, Aimee Mullins was mocked. She was born without calf bones and both her legs were amputated when she was a year old. Instead of hiding away “offended” by cruel remarks – she learned to fly. She is a world class runner who broke world records in 100 meters, 200 meters and the long jump – while competing against “able-bodied” athletes.

Shakespeare’s poems and plays are still popular around the world some 400 years after his death. He used more words from the English language than any other writer ever has – and was taunted by some of his contemporaries, including Robert Greene who called him among other things an “upstart crow.”

Vincent Van Gogh painted his inner feelings of depression and was labeled a failure and “mentally ill.” He rose from poverty and mocking to praise and riches. His “Portrait of Dr. Gachet” was one of the world’s most expensive paintings and is now valued at $155 million.

Abraham Lincoln, the 16^th President of the United States, couldn’t get into law school, borrowed money for a business and went bankrupt, and lost five elections before he became President. Personal tragedies included losing his mother when he was nine; the deaths of a sister, a sweetheart, and three of four sons. He also suffered a broken engagement and was diagnosed with clinical depression, spending six months in bed after a nervous breakdown.

The world was perfect when God created it. But when sin came into the world, that perfection was marred. We now live in a world of “hard knocks.” Being given permission to be offended at every real and imagined slight will never build us into individuals who can grow in grace, character, and strength.

I am so thankful that I never “fit in” as a child. Because I learned at an early age not to seek peer approval, I escaped the rampant drug culture when I went to college. Because I care more what God thinks about me than what other people do, I can write hard books that get flak: pro-life “Heart Shadows;” abused child turned serial killer “Killer Conversations,” and soon-to-be-released Texas Miz Mike mystery-romance-suspense #7, “Bridge Home.” The easy to love, bonkers Miz Mike is the same in “Bridge Home,” but there is an added dimension. Should Christians be in favor of, or opposed to same sex marriage? Miz Mike faces that dilemma when her fiancé is falsely arrested for killing one of two women who requested a same-sex marriage ceremony in his church.

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The release of “Bridge Home” should prove interesting. My hope and prayer is that readers will love it and welcome it as another of Miz Mike’s “pickle-making” mysteries. But I’m prepared for flak and one-star reviews because, thankfully, when I was growing up I didn’t have the British Medical Association looking out for me.

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Bucket List

Making “bucket lists” is trendy. I don’t have a bucket list.

Since I was in the fifth grade my enduring dream has been to write books. I write books. I’m happy.

I would love to make money writing books – enough money that I could keep writing more books. But several of my books have made the Amazon Best Seller’s List (albeit briefly), so I’m happy.

It would be great to visit my hometown of Bandera, Texas, “Cowboy Capital of the World,” and say howdy to my friends. Needless to say, I’d love to visit all my family members. Family is more fulfilling than writing books.

It would be fantastic to take a Christian cruise to warmer climes. I can’t think of anything more enjoyable than spending days eating food you don’t have to cook, swimming, working out at a gym, and relaxing in the sun – except writing books.

There are fascinating places in the world to visit with strange and exotic landscapes and animals. But I’ve traveled to many of those places already through reading books. I’ve researched and written some of them into my books. I’m happy.

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Our rough collie Angel Joy had a one-item bucket list. She wanted to meet a cat and sniff it to see what it was. Our friendly birds outside let her sniff their feathers, but cats have always run. Finally, a cat not only let her sniff – it followed her across the parking lot and tried to jump into the car with her. She’s happy.

If I had a bucket list, one animal I always wanted to meet was a hedgehog. I got to meet one the other night. It let me crawl around on the ground and take its picture and touch its stiff bristles. I’m happy. I wrote a hedgehog into “Bridge to Brigadoon,” which is set here in Scotland. It was fabulous to meet one in person – so to speak.

The apostle Paul said in Philippians 4:11, “I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content.” Paul lived for Jesus even after being beaten and stoned for his faith, and after having survived shipwrecks. He knew the secret: “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” I don’t think Paul had a bucket list. He lived each day fully engaged – and he was a writer. He was happy.

Bucket lists are cool. They really are.

But, I have my books. I’m happy.

http://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

When the Bridge Breaks

To celebrate the release of “Bridge to Xanadu” in paperback, I’m offering a glimpse into the third Texas Miz Mike Christian mystery-romance-suspense. The backdrop is imaginary Three Prongs, Texas, not unlike the real Bandera, Texas, “Cowboy Capital of the World.”

Mystery writer Michal Allison Rice follows a porcupine in an attempt to get a picture for the local newspaper. The porcupine climbs into a dumpster. When Miz Mike peeks inside to get a shot of the critter—being Miz Mike—she finds a murder victim. She is convinced that the man she saw in a local restaurant with a child is both killer and kidnapper. But since no one believes her wild accusation—she must prove it herself.

“Bridge to Xanadu” is dedicated to Native Americans. Chief Alan Bitterroot is an unforgettable hero:

The chief himself came to meet me. He was impressive; tall, and bare-chested, with beaded necklaces around his neck and fringed beige pants traveling down the length of his long, straight legs. His skin glowed a healthy brown, and even though tufts of grey infringed on the long, wavy mass of reddish-brown hair, his face looked eternally young. I looked into the verdure depths of his eyes and fell in love—with the eyes—not with the man I had only just met. Now was an unfortunate time to remember that I had not engineered an excuse for my intrusion. His hand clamped around mine and I couldn’t have spoken anyway.

As always, Miz Mike’s talent for minding her own business throws her into the path of danger:

Later, I remembered the sudden increased tempo of footsteps and the rush of movement behind me. But then, standing at the edge of the world alone, I received scant warning before a rodeo bull-like kick to my back sent me sailing momentarily against blue sky and clouds. Then the sky fell out from under me and I tumbled over rocks and through prickly pear cactus in an endless terror-filled plunge down the mountain.

No challenge is greater than Miz Mike’s determination to meet and defeat it:

It was pure insanity. I dropped Matilda’s leash, hoping that the borrowed dog would follow me. Like a football player going in for the tackle, I tore across the uneven ground, grabbed the child, flung her over my shoulder, and ran.

Cowboy hero Marty (who would be any woman’s hero) can’t believe he has lost Mike’s love:

“I don’t know, Marty. It was a magical, amazing world. I had never walked there before. I got lost. Now I can’t find my way back. It’s like there was this bridge there…Bridge to Xanadu, in my mind. The bridge washed out. It left me stranded.”

The killer-kidnapper catches up with Miz Mike:

Something with all the solidity of a metal stick thumped my ribs from the back and a voice that instantly turned my insides to ice growled, “Don’t turn around writer-lady. Just back up and get into my car, just like you planned on taking a little trip with a good friend. Cause we’re gonna be really good friends…until I get tired of you.” He laughed uproariously, but no joy bounded up and down the notes of his laughter. Instead, the smell of death spilled out of his mouth. He planned to kill me and I had stupidly walked into his trap.

http://www.amazon.com/Bridge-Xanadu-Stephanie-Parker-McKean/dp/1530764483/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr= old bridge

Bloom Where God Has Planted You

A clump of yellow primroses on a rock cliff caught my eyes today when I was walking. Flowers cheerfully blooming where God had planted them in spite of the improbable and impossible-looking location.

We Christians should take a note from God’s creation and bloom cheerfully where God has planted us. There are no perfect places on this earth and there are no perfect people in this life. Everyone has problems. Everyone has storms. Sometimes, the blame is on us. We make bad choices and suffer the consequences. Sometimes, a storm hits unexpectedly – sent by an enemy intending destruction. Sometimes, God sends a storm to teach us to push our roots of faith deeper into Him.

After losing everything he had on earth including his health through no fault of his own, Job was able to declare that after God had tried him – he would come forth as gold. Job claimed victory over the storms in his life and God rewarded him.

My two favorite Bible verses are: In everything give thanks and All things work together for good to those who love the Lord. These are victory-winning verses.

Thinking about those lovely primroses today reminded me of my two most recently published books, “Killer Conversations,” and “Bridge to Xanadu.” The characters in both of these books walked through storms. Instead of blooming where he was planted, the main character in “Killer Conversations” became a serial killer. Texas Miz Mike in “Bridge to Xanadu” learned to bloom where she was planted even when it was a totally new and unexpected place in her zany life.

My books are fiction, mostly mystery-romance-suspense although “Killer Conversations” is a psychological suspense. However, I’ve been through some of the same storms in my life that these characters have weathered in words. With the help of Jesus, I’ve learned to bloom where God has planted me. It’s been a hard lesson at times. Sometimes my roots have nearly slipped out of the Rock of faith holding them. Thankfully, Jesus is the Friend who sticks closer than a sibling and He never lets go, never leaves us, never forsakes us.

If your roots feel dry and unprotected during whatever problem or storm you are facing, stick them back into the Rock and bloom cheerfully. Your heavenly reward will exceed any possible earthly riches and God’s accounting is both perfect and eternal.

http://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Fire the Rocks with Beauty

Bloom where you are planted. Light up the rocky ground with the fire of the gifts and enthusiasm that God has given you. If lovely flowers can bloom vividly on the slate roof of a building, we can light up the rocks where we’re planted with God’s glory.

I’m a Texan. I love Bandera, Texas, “Cowboy Capital of the World.” It’s my home and the setting for most of the Christian mystery-romance-suspense books that I’ve written: Bridge to Nowhere, Love’s Beating Heart, Shadow Chase and Until the Shadows Flee. Heart Shadows is set in the Nevada desert.

When my job ended in Bandera, I left. I’ve left Bandera before, but I’ve always gone back. I call it the boomerang effect. The LORD told me to leave, but I fought against going. I prayed and begged God to change His mind all the way to Alabama. Alabama had an even higher unemployment rate than Texas – which made me wonder why I was there. It took me a couple of months to find a job. I had never been out of work before in my life. But it gave me time to write my next Sunpenny Publishing release, Bridge Beyond Betrayal, and when I did find a job, it was a great job with a great boss. God blessed me for blooming where I was planted – even though it wasn’t Texas.

Now that I’m in Scotland, I realize why I was in Alabama. The LORD moved me there to shake the soil out of my roots and free me to marry my wonderful husband, author Alan T McKean (The Scent of Time & The Scent of Home). Surviving in a colder, wetter climate and adjusting to culture changes sometimes made me feel like a weed clinging to a rock, more likely to fall off than bloom. But with God’s grace, my life has blossomed around me in spite of all my human errors and weakness. Besides having a great husband, a lovely rough collie dog named Angel Joy, and living by the sea in a place that simply has no ugly views in any direction, the LORD has given me time to write. That resulted in the pro-life adventure-romance, Love’s Beating Heart, which has been acclaimed by critics as “inspirational” and “life-changing.” God blesses us when we bloom where we’re planted.

So if you find yourself planted in rocky ground, decide to fire the rocks with your beauty. You are beautiful because God created you and He doesn’t make junk! God gives all of us gifts. You may not be a writer, but God has a plan and a purpose for your life. He has a reason for sticking you in the rocks. Think of the lovely roof flowers waving cheerfully from their lofty heights on slate and be encouraged. All things really do work together for good to them that love the LORD, just like the Bible promises. If God sticks you in the rocks, He will water you with a special blessing that you wouldn’t get anywhere else.

Fire the rocks with beauty!

Try a Bit Harder, Work a Bit Longer…

With a bit of weeding, digging and replanting, the garden looked nice…except for the dead branches and trunks of a tree along the fence. Our chainsaw will cut butter, but not much else and there are no repair or sharpening services in our area. The handsaw cuts a bit better, but the dead tree trunks were huge in circumference and grown too close together to allow the handsaw to get in between them. With our limited tools, cutting that dead, tangled mess looked impossible.

Enter determination. The same, “try a bit harder, work a bit longer,” that carried me past the agony and despair of receiving 150 rejection slips on different books over the years to eventual success. I now have five published Christian, mystery-romance-suspense books, Bridge to Nowhere (Rose & Crown/Sunpenny Publishing), Love’s Beating Heart, Heart Shadows, Until the Shadows Flee and Shadow Chase. I knew I was a writer. God had put that burning fire in my bones and I could not contain it. But every rejection slip made me quit and give up…briefly – before I remembered to try a bit harder, work a bit longer.

So, too, with the dead wood in the front yard. First the clippers to remove the smaller branches. With scratched and bleeding arms and facing those huge trunks, I started to give up. Then I looked again at the bright green garden tossed with blooming flowers and mocked by one clump of ugly dead tree. The butter-cutting chainsaw came out. The butter-cutting-plus handsaw came out. Then help arrived in the form of my gifted, talented husband (also an author, The Scent of Time & The Scent of Home). He had been out visiting folks in the parish. Still dressed in his clerical shirt and collar (he’s a Church of Scotland minister) Alan began helping. Between the two of us and the two butter and better than butter-cutting saws, the dead wood came out. Try a bit harder, work a bit longer.

Taking out the dead growth was the right thing to do. Besides looking better, the open space allows room to finish edging in front of the beds and trimming the shrubs.But it wasn’t easy. It took trying a bit harder, working a bit longer.

Having five published books was the right thing to do. Without preaching, the characters and action in the books point to God. It is my prayer that they will help readers find their way to the Cross of Jesus. Love’s Beating Heart sends two teens on a wild river adventure to save Baby. The fast-moving adventure upholds marriage, homeschooling and pro-life over abortion. If it saves the life of even one unborn child, I have fulfilled my purpose as a writer. But success wasn’t easy. It took years to achieve and a lot of trying a bit harder, working a bit longer.

When you have a dream or a task that seems impossible, don’t give up! Try a bit harder, work a bit longer.

What Tree are You?

If someone asked you what kind of tree best represents you, what would your answer be? Tall, straight and reaching to the sky like a mighty pine? Squat and thick with olive green foliage like a Texas live oak? Branched with diversity like a grafted fruit tree? Showy and spectacular like an ornamental cherry or pear tree? Or fruitful like a trustworthy apple?

Me? I’d be like most dogs. A mongrel. Past trials and testings have twisted branches and stripped them of leaves and fruit. I’ve never been able to grow straight enough for long enough to reach up an tickle the clouds. I attempt to live a Christian life as evidenced my the fruit listed in Galatians 5:22: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Yet, sometimes I grow weary. Sometimes the fruit of the Spirit falls to the ground.

The tree of my life is bent, twisted, bare-barked in spots – a unique creation shaped by God. I am so thankful for that! Every bend, broken branch and naked barked limb wrote its way into the books God has given me to author. Bridge to Nowhere, Love’s Beating Heart, Shadow Chase, Heart Shadows and Until the Shadows Flee are all knobs on that tree. The soon-to-be-released Fear of Shadows was written by a childhood memory too painful and frightening to recall.

I like my shape! God created it for His glory. A tall pine tree pinching the sky stands in its own glory. I need God to clothe me with every measure of joy and beauty He can give.

You might want to thank God for your shape; your kind of tree. It’s unique. No one else can do a good job of being you.