When Reality Overwrites Fiction

 

“I can’t explain, just pray.”

The words came ten nights ago.  Frankly, five of the worst words I’ve ever heard in my life.  They signaled the beginning of my three year old grandson’s ordeal. If you ask Stephen what happened to him, he’ll say, “A bird died.”  It’s just a little more complicated than that, but it is how it happened.  A bird hit a power line, caused an explosion, which started a fire.  Stephen’s father rushed to help put out the fire (a few doors down from them).  Stephen and his sister Emma followed.  Mom called them back, but Stephen either didn’t hear or was too mesmerized by the fire to consider obedience imperative.  David, in a move that probably saved Stephen’s life, led his son back to the yard, leaving the fire for others to put out.  The explosion/fire caused the power line to fall.  It was nearly dark.  It blended with the street.  Stephen tripped over it (best guess), and the rest is history.

What does this have to do with anything?  I mean, this blog is about writing or at least not a personal blog about our family’s tragedies, right?  Well, bear with me for just a bit.  Do you remember what June is?  Camp NaNoWriMo.  After years of planning, detailed plotting, on June 1, 2012, at 12:00:01 I began writing the first words of Webster’s Bakery.  I haven’t had a book practically write itself like this in a long time.  The first day I wrote just under 6k words.  To see my progress, check out the graph on my “stats” page. Things obviously slowed down after June 6, but here I am on June 15, and I’m over 40K.  I’m happy about this.  However, this isn’t my point.  Subject matter– that’s my point.

This book is about the interpersonal relationships of women and how the church comes together to support one another.  Just as things became heart wrenching in the book–our disaster struck. The next morning, several wonderful things happened around the globe.  Children who have been waiting years to come home to their new families–from opposite sides of the globe–got the good news.  Two little boys from Haiti came home to America.  Two children from Ethiopia got a court date–after eighteen months of waiting!

If I had any doubt of my absolute need to write this book, it’s gone.  People need to see the relationships, the trials, the triumphs, the grief and the joy.  It is the heart of this story.  We’re living the grief right now.  I know there are worse things than little boys with bandages up and down their legs crying, “Don’t hurt me, Daddy,” but right now, it just doesn’t seem like it.  However, already we’ve had triumphs!  More will come.  He will recover.  He will walk again.  He will be a normal little boy climbing trees and tumbling off wood piles!

Stephen, this book’s for you!