Prose by the Gulf

Photo by Brock S. Henning

(A poem written from a condo balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico)

Nutty coffee. Blue water gulf.
Salty cool breeze. Sun-warmed skin.
Squinty-eyed bright.
Rolling waves crash.
Up and down in my ears. Up and down.
Aqua-tan sandbars submerged.
Beachcombers on a fifty-five degree day.
Most in sweatshirts. The adventurous
in swimming trunks, shirtless.
Thermal jeans on my legs soaking
solar rays. I feel peace today.
I feel joy right now.
This moment in time, an island all to myself.
Well, God and me.
A brief paradise of the mind.
A retreat in my heart.
Not so much a sabbatical, but for sure
a sanctuary. More than a siesta.
Freedom of soul.
My oldest son sits next to me.
What's passing through his teenage mind?
I don't know, but I know it's good.
His dreams hover above the water
spread before his eyes.

Mountains and oceans have a way of reflecting our dreams.
Timeless. Endless.
They remind us, teach us, to dream bigger and beyond what our minds can see.
We turn to greatness to pursue peace and paradise.
We are turning to God.

"since what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse."
— Romans 1:19-20, The Bible

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Starry-eyed Dreamers

Starry-eyed Dreamers
by Brock S. Henning

Like stars on a tree
your mind sparkles
with dots of brilliance
Though darkness, void
far outweigh the specks
of dazzlement
But notice
globes and candy
and toys and tinsel
ornament the void
The void is material,
not empty
Matter exists,
not hopeless
Where there is matter
there is something,
not nothing
Where there is something,
even in empty
there is hope
See through the darkness
Stare into it
What do you see?
A reflection
Your face is beautiful
Wonderful
Your smile is joy,
not waiting,
existing in your heart
It calls to you
Not tomorrow
Today.

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Don't Skip the Credits

Photo courtesy of 123RF

I rummaged through stacks of DVD movies, still boxed away a year after moving into our home. My youngest son wanted to watch Avatar. I had initially requested the recent Netflix arrival of The Artist (to which you can imagine a 12 year-old boy's disinterested response). A part of me wanted to watch neither, so I continued my search for something we hadn't experienced in a while.

Star Wars…nah. Planet of the Apes…love it, but huh-uh. A Christmas Story…hmmm, funny…but not tonight. Apollo 13…no, the kids will be expecting that in my usual list of suggestions.

Ah. Here we go. We hadn't watched this together in years. We used to lie on the floor while Disney's Atlantis played in the background, providing dramatic effect for our toy figures as they dove into the cold depths of piled-up pillows hidden leagues below the ocean's surface. The journey was dangerous and often required more skill and courage and tanked oxygen than our little figurines could muster, but we knew the hope of something bigger in the end, a joy that was well worth the fight during our playtime together. Yeah, this will do.

"What? Atlantis?" replied my son with a hint of disappointment, though he wasted no time grabbing a blanket and nestling into the recliner. My teenage daughter plopped next to me on the couch, just happy to spend some quality time with Dad.

I admit I slept through half the movie, my hardened stamp of exhaustion during this busy season of demands and having to fight for those relationships and ideals and the dreams I hold dear. It was barely 8:45 p.m. Quite early for a night owl like myself.

I awoke for the final battle scene, the struggle, the victory, saving the people, getting the girl, roll the credits. At this point we usually hit the Stop button, flip on the lights, and get ready for bed. Back to a busy world. But then it came, and I sat.

I couldn't have told you anything about the closing song if you had asked me before, though I'd watched the movie several times. I didn't remember ever listening to it. But when I heard the opening lyrics, my thumb hovering over the Stop button while cast and crew scrolled up the screen, my soul tuned in.


Where the Dream Takes You
From "Atlantis The Lost Empire"
Composed by Diane Warren
Performed by Mya

They'll try to hold you back
They will say you're wrong
But they will never understand
The journey that you're on
They'll try to change your mind
They'll try to change your heart
But they will never understand who you are

And you still believe
And you know
You must go

Where the dream takes you
Where your heart longs to be
When you finally found that place
You'll find all you need
Where the dream takes you

There's something in your soul
That won't be denied
It's the faith to dream that keeps
The dream alive
So you still believe
And you know
You must go

Where the dream takes you
Where your heart longs to be
When you finally find that place
You'll find all you need
Where the dream takes you

Go where your heart is meant to be
And you may find
Somebody there
Someone to share your dream

When you finally find that place
You'll find all you need
Where the dream leads you
Far as your heart can see
There's a world that waits for you
You're not alone
You'll find your home
Where the dream takes you

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Shore Book Project Update - 4, 40, and 25,000

That's where we're at. 4 hours. 40 hours. 25,000+ words.

As of today, we've recorded a total of 4 hours of interviews with Mike and Christa Shore toward their book. This may not sound like much until you realize that out of those 4 hours, we've transcribed over 25,000 words into a word processor, all of which will either get re-written for the book or get thrown out.

If you're not familiar with the transcription process, it's literally typing in every word from the interview sessions (I use a Sony ICD-SX712 Digital Recorder) into a word processor (we use Microsoft Word). My wife, Sarah, helps with this process (thank the Lord), as it takes twice as long to transcribe as it did to record, primarily because of listening to the recordings just above half-speed to avoid having to stop and rewind as often. We've picked up a few tricks though, such as developing our own shorthand while typing, and training our minds to ignore spelling. It is tedious work but well worth the effort for all of the raw audio material transferred onto the page for later use.

At this point we've only touched on 4 or 5 "stories" within the story. We initially came up with about 50 supporting stories, or events, to guide us through the overall story process. I knew having ample material to work with would not be a problem. Deciding what is going to get cut will be the hard part.

So what's with the 40 hours? This will likely interest you writers, but that's roughly how much time I've spent on this project overall, everything from planning and interview sessions with Mike and Christa to transcribing the recordings to researching to chapter layout work, and of course, writing. The actual writing process has mostly taken the backseat at this point since the planning/research/interview stages are more important right now. The more we invest up front in those areas, the easier the writing task will be. Think essays or reports you had to write in school on a particular subject. They always went smoother if you put in the planning/research effort up front, despite the urge to get on with the writing!  :)

Why do I keep track of my time? To forecast future writing projects. Knowing how much time and effort goes into this project will only make me wiser for the next, especially for setting expectations/deadlines and sticking to it. I'm finding this critical (and admittedly difficult) while working a full-time job and supporting a family of five. Nobody guaranteed it would be easy, but it's been good, and I hope the best is yet to come for Mike and Christa and their powerful story. It's my joy to be on this ride with them.

Thank you for stopping by for this latest update!

-bsh

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Shore Book Project Update - Interviews

We're in the interview stages of the book now, sitting with Mike and Christa Shore, lapel-pin microphones plugged into a digital recorder, taking note of every detail from their story. This part is the most heartfelt for me and Sarah. We are in the company of two wonderful friends who are sharing their hearts for the sole purpose of helping others. We are literally the first readers of their story, and already we are receiving the blessing of their lives. Such a privilege.

The rough draft of chapter one is complete. I emphasize rough. The idea is to transcribe the interview sessions we have so far and get them written. This keeps the project moving forward and provides milestones for the journey. As you would hear from any writer, staring at the blank page is daunting. If you can force yourself to just get a few words down, the rest begins to flow. Every chapter will begin that way. As said by author James Scott Bell, "Write hot, edit cool." Get the words down fast, come back later to revise.

The most tedious work is transcribing the interview sessions into the computer. It's a lot of playing the recordings at slow speeds to avoid having to stop and rewind as often. After two hours of hearing Mike and Christa's voices in slow motion, normal conversation sounds like Alvin and the chipmunks.  :) Once captured onto the digital page, it's much easier to put the pieces together, and the work and craft of writing itself takes over.

Summer brought an inconsistent schedule for all of us. The beginning work was more like a sputtering engine, but the vehicle is moving. If you are keeping us in prayer for this project, please pray for a consistent schedule as we draw into the fall and winter months. Sometimes the kids getting back to a regular school routine and the shorter days make it easier for devoting waking hours earlier in the evening versus midnight.

-bsh

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Missing the Pointe

Photo by Brock S. Henning

My life is fleeting before me, but I pause this morning to capture the beauty and grace before my very eyes, frame by frame, but not mechanical like a movie projector. Flowing.

I watch my 13 year-old daughter wrap the black ribbons around her ankles. Her feet positioned just so as she ties each knot, accepting the worn pointe shoes molding to her gentle feet. Delicate.

I'm fighting back tears, because I cannot count the days—no, the weeks—since I noticed her in this way. Her beauty. Her passion. She is a work of art.

The way she inches her pointed toes, in step, across the laminate floor. What balance she maintains for such a young girl, not quite a young woman. No, she is a young woman. I haven't accepted this yet. Aching.

But her spins beckon me. I follow, returning to the stage where only our memories can dance. She in my arms, her toddler feet dangling as we twirl across the living room floor. Laughter.

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