Why Did I Never Know?

Why did I never know that the traditional red berries of Christmas began as tiny white flowers? I didn’t know that until a few days ago when I found a holly bush in full bloom.

Moreover, there are things in this world I will never know. When I hear musical folks use terms like “singing flat,” or being in the “wrong key,” I don’t understand what those words mean. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it—or so I’ve been told. Not that I understand what that means either. To me, singing is simple and uncomplicated. You raise or lower your voice with the words of a song. Who cares how high or low or what sphere of the universe it reaches to touch a key—which is invisible anyway.

And directions. Especially directions like “north,” “south,” “east,” and “west.” We were taught in school that north is straight ahead of us. South is behind us. East is to the right, and west is to the left. Simple. I got that question right on a test at school. But in the real world? North is always in front of me no matter what direction I’m facing, so if someone tells me to go north three blocks, turn west at the next traffic light and then take the east underpass below the bridge and go south for three miles…someone better send a search party out for me because I will be missing for days.

Those are two examples of things I don’t know and should. I don’t know how to set a formal table correctly either. That’s okay. I have no need to know that. I do know how to put a plank across stacks of concrete blocks and use that for a makeshift table. I’ve done that before. And without knowing which direction the ends of the plank are facing or what key or chord the song on the radio are.

Thankfully, I know the most important thing of all in life. “Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10

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Write What You Know

18362492_1238027982976551_1361060936_o “Write what you know,” the weathered writing instructor with grey-streaked red hair and periwinkle glasses told us, holding up two lackluster books that had probably not sold more than 30 copies each. Still, her two-day class was cheap, and at 20-something with a gathering stack of rejection slips, I figured some knowledge was better than no knowledge.

Wrong! I was quick to realize that at 20-something, I basically knew nothing. I should have given up writing then. Because by the time I knew enough to write books—reaping that knowledge had imprinted bloodstains on my heart. Some people like pain. I don’t.

When I attended those writing classes, I didn’t know God. When I started to realize God might be real, I prayed for Him to remove every doubt. He did. Accomplishing that meant sending me into the desert at night with a young child to support, no money, no job, no place to stay, and no vehicle. When you’re crying your heart out in the desert at night matching coyote wails, and the next day you receive everything you prayed for—it kind of removes the doubt element. Except, it’s mighty scary and uncomfortable at the time. Oh…almost everything. The vehicle arrived a few weeks later after we had started attending church and my four-year-old son said, “Mom, why don’t you pray for a truck?” I didn’t have enough faith to pray for that, but he did—and the next day—we had our truck.

A failed first marriage, fleeing and hiding from an abusive husband, supporting a child by myself, and working two to three jobs—knowledge is costly.

I must confess that my newest book, “Bridge to Texas,” is a comical mystery-romance-suspense not based on personal knowledge…exactly. I’ve never done a nude calendar shoot and at my age and weight—no one would buy the calendars. However, I covered a story when I was working for a Bandera, Texas newspaper that gave me the idea. Older women raising money for charity took off their clothes and made history, so to speak, plus a lot of money!

I must thank my husband Alan T McKean, talented author in his own right, for “Bridge to Texas.” The entire story grew out of a comment he made: “You should write another Texas Miz Mike. You could have Evan get kidnapped.” Does he get kidnapped? Read the book. Oh, and here’s a link to Alan’s books: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Alan-T.-McKean/e/B00BR1PM5Y/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

The differences between Scotland and Texas spin comedy effortlessly in “Bridge to Texas,” and the characters are a bossy bunch who grab a’holt of a story plot and corral it for their own rodeo. So you can say the book wrote itself. I say God wrote and I typed it. But whatever your personal outlook, you will probably enjoy this romping mystery-romance-suspense that can make you laugh…yes…out loud!

Even the cover and cover blurb are the result of knowledge: photographer Don Davis’ genius with a camera; Paul Garrison III’s mule training advice, and friend Shawn Petersen’s riding skill.

So that jaded teacher was right. Write what you know. And if you’re too young yet to know a lot…be thankful and wait. Don’t rush the knowledge—unless you’re one of those peculiar folks who enjoy pain.