Writing Letters to your Child (plus a book giveaway!)

Please welcome Steena Holmes, author of FINDING EMMA.  Steena shares the importance of writing letters to our children. Leave a comment or question for Steena today for a chance to win a pdf or mobi copy of her best selling book! (plus – a Carnival of PRIZES available! More info below the article…)

Letter Writing…To Your Child

guest post by Steena Holmes

There’s something to be said for sitting down and writing a letter, especially in today’s world when it’s so much easier to shoot off an email or send an e-card that can literally only take minutes to do. Writing a letter takes time. Time to compose your thoughts, to ensure what you really want to say gets written. Time to be honest with yourself.

I started to write letters to my children after shortly after my oldest daughter was born. I remember sitting in the in my chair one day while she was screaming in my arms and wondering where had I gone as a person. There I was, a new mom with no clue what to do. It shocked me. Once upon a time I always knew what to do, knew who I was and where I wanted to go. I was experiencing what most new mom’s go through – an identity crisis.

I went back to my roots as a teenager of figuring out who I was, by journaling. But, that journal soon grew into a book of letters for my daughter. I started to remember who I was a person and I watched myself grow as a woman and a mother through the words I wrote to her.

Three children later, I still carry on the process of writing letters to my daughters. I talk about goal setting and learning to be a stronger person. I tell them about my weaknesses and what steps I’m taking to overcome them. I share with them the love that is in my heart and what I see in theirs. I’m an open book in my letters to my daughters and its a process that I cherish.

Leave a comment for a chance to win this book!

This is something every mother can do. Whether it becomes a gift that you give them at their wedding or when their first child is born, or whether it’s a process that you share together (my middle daughter and I write letters back and forth in one of her journals weekly), it’s a process that, I believe, opens your heart up to being honest with who you are as a person and helps you to remember those goals and dreams you once held close. It also helps to teach our children to be honest with themselves, to never be afraid to look deep inside their hearts and deal with issues that are hard.

In my bestseller Finding Emma, I use the concept of writing letters with Peter. He keeps a diary for their kidnapped daughter, Emma. He writes down the words he’s too afraid to admit out loud and he’s even encouraged his other daughters, Hannah and Alexis, to do the same. There’s one touching scene when Megan finds out about this journal and reads it for herself. It opens her eyes to the man she married and makes her realize he’s not who she thought he was.

Have you ever written a letter to your child? If you haven’t, I strongly encourage you to do so. And if you don’t have children, how about writing one to yourself? That might be even harder to do, like trying to get off a ferris wheel that never ends, but in the end, you’ll know it will be a letter full of honesty and truth.

Steena Holmes

Author of the new heart wrenching story “Finding Emma”, Steena is a woman who believes that ‘in the end, everything succumbs…to the passions of your heart’. Steena’s life revolves around her family, friends and fiction.

Come along with Emma on a scavenger hunt!
We’re going to the Carnival! At each stop along Steena’s tour there is a hidden word–something you would find at a fair or carnival. Find the word and enter it at the Scavenger Hunt page on Steena’s website
(http://www.steenaholmes.com/wow-scavenger-hunt/). Each entry is an extra ticket to win! Need more clues? Join us at the Carnival Board on Pinterest (http://pinterest.com/steenah/summer-carnivals-childhood-memories/)
where we will post images of the clues. Join in the fun by leaving your own favorite carnival pics! Read about prizes and additional details on The Muffin.(http://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com/2012/06/emmas-scavenger-hunt.html)

Prizes:

First Prize: Work with a Bestselling Author.

Our Grande Prize winner will help create a character for Steena Holmes’ next book!

 Second and Third Prize Winners will each receive a signed copy of Finding Emma and a special pewter angel figurine from The Missing Children’s Society of Canada, an organization dedicated to bringing children home.

2 Comments

Filed under Advice, books, characters, emotion

One.More.Sentence.

Mantra to repeat every time you want to quit….

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Finish this line…

more from The Pocket Muse (Monica Wood)

Finish this line…

“Right after they posted the results, I tried to ________________”

+ call my dad

+ get lost in the crowd

+ deny the words in front of me

+ console Becky

+ tear the sheet from the bulletin board

+ avoid eye contact with Roger

+ “your own idea here!”

Share your finishing touches and any story ideas that steam up from the cup of muse. 🙂

Leave a comment

Filed under books, writers, writing inspiration, Writing prompts

Dear Words: I love you! Forever yours, me

“Don’t forget to be grateful that you love words.” ~ Monica Wood

I LOVE words. I do. And I don’t care who hears me:

I LOVE WORDS!!!

Say it with me!

I LOVE WORDS!!!

Create words or unique ways of using them: “green” as a Verb?

The sun greens the Earth.

“Spoon” as a Verb?

She spoons the terrier pup, feeling his warmth and heartbeat.

How about “racket?”

Sammy is racketing across the yard, much to the dismay of the delicately balanced tea cups.

What other nouns or adjectives can you use as a fresh verb?

Leave a comment

Filed under books, Fiction, Voice, writers block, writing inspiration, Writing prompts

A Pocketful of ideas

I finished reading The Pocket Muse by Monica Wood and sizzle with exhilaration for my writing again.

 

OK, so as I read this little pocket-full of inspiration, I took notes, wrote down quotes, writing prompts and exercises then let my own imagination move my pen across the page. I thought I’d share some of these snippets with you:

Some conflict ideas:

  • a mismatch between person and place: someone in the wrong house, wrong job, wrong school, wrong church, wrong club, wrong DIMENSION
  • trouble getting from Point A to Point B
  • trouble being understood
  • trouble having something done to you (or for you!)
  • trouble talking
  • trouble listening

“I really like dialogue between two people who aren’t listening to each other.” ~ Raymond Carver

  • winning something you don’t want (a pet aardvark; an outdated set of Encyclopedias…)
  • saying “yes” when you meant to say “no”
  • a family secret gets out
  • a noise – or a silence – that won’t go away

Add some more conflict ideas! I’d love to have an ongoing list…

2 Comments

Filed under Advice, Believe, books, Inspiration, writers, writing inspiration, Writing prompts

I Am Not My Past:

 

Defining Yourself

 {Guest Post by: Chynna Laird, author of White Elephants}

When a child is abused or victimized, it changes a tiny part of him forever. That much is true. He comes to believe that he actually deserves the treatment that was bestowed on him. He thinks that, maybe, if he was cuter/smarter/faster/better behaved than the abuser wouldn’t hurt him anymore. We all know this couldn’t be further from the truth but this is the mindset these children fall into. And when we don’t keep reminding the child who he truly is underneath it all, we are inadvertently reinforcing those negative thoughts. Allow me to explain.

Whenever people found out what was going on in our house, or what happened to me specifically, one of two things happened. Some people focused on all of the statistics that say people who abuse become abusers or that we have to be watched closely because we’ll become addicts or hurt ourselves or, God forbid, commit suicide. This is a dangerous stereotype because, as with all stereotypes, they exist due to misinformation and misunderstanding. And when a person hears these stereotypes often enough, they end up believing them and living up to them. This line of thinking keeps these children living as victims rather than as a child who just happened to go through this horrible thing but who was brave enough to go on.

Others simply became so uncomfortable they wouldn’t interact with me. They didn’t know what to say to me or how to act around me and avoided me. That hurt tremendously because it made me feel like, maybe, I did deserve what happened to me if no one else wanted to be around me either. Again, this happens because folks just aren’t informed or understand the situations well enough. Taking the time to understand what these kids go through in general, as well as the child’s specific situation, will help ease any discomfort. Avoiding or ignoring them only intensifies their own insecurities.

I understand that not everyone knows what to do when finding out a child they know has been abused, neglected or otherwise victimized. The main thing you can help with is restoring the three basic things every child should have: self-esteem, self-worth and self-confidence. All of these are broken down next to nothing when they’ve been abused. And those are the main components of helping these kids define their own paths.

A dear friend of mine, and the CEO of a local child protection charity I work closely with, told me once that she never reads the files for the children that come to her center before she’s met with them. She sits down with the child, playing games with them or talking about what they enjoy doing. Once she’s gotten to know the child inside and out, only then does she finally read the file to learn his or her history. Think of the significance of that for a moment.

By sitting down with the child first, my friend is seeing only the child. She’s understanding who he is, what his interests are and what he likes or doesn’t. She takes the time to figure out what that child is good at and draws that out. She relates to him at his comfort level, treating him like any other child she might meet up with. And doing this without knowing what he’s gone through is what she calls, ‘Defining him by who he or she is rather than whatever labels are attached to the child through their experiences.’

I can’t tell you how much that means to these kids. We can’t change or erase those experiences as much as we’d like to. But what we can do is remind him of all the good in him because no person can take that away from him completely. The way you can do that is to follow what my friend does above.

Plant the seeds of self-esteem by reminding her she is worth spending time with. Let her know that her presence matters and that she is still just a kid—a fantastic kid. She needs to see and believe that in order to keep going. Don’t worry, she will.

As that grows, nurture it so the first signs of self-worth start to sprout. Remind her of all the great things she can do, helping her to draw on that for courage and strength when things get tough. Show her that despite what’s happened to her, she is supposed to be here and get her to see all of her ‘Can Do’s’.

Once you see those take strong root, you’ll finally see the blossom of self-confidence develop and grow. When he knows others believe in him, he will believe in himself. Self-confidence isn’t just thinking you can do something, it’s what gives us the tenacity to try, and keep trying, until we feel bigger, stronger and more powerful than what’s trying to scare us from moving forward.

We aren’t born with any of these things. We’re supposed to learn and develop them from our caregivers. But when a child is abused, they don’t have the chance to develop properly and neither does the child. But children are resilient when given the proper support. Trust me on this. I wouldn’t be here today without my loving support network surrounding me each and every day.

Even if you don’t know what else to do, you have the ability to make a difference by helping to nurture these traits in these kids. We can all do that. By doing so, you’re giving them a most precious gift of all: the ability to define themselves and to say, “I am not my past!” And that is powerful.

Chynna Laird

CHYNNA LAIRD – is a psychology major, freelance writer and multi award-winning author living in Edmonton, Alberta with her partner, Steve, and their three daughters [Jaimie (almost nine), Jordhan (six), and baby Sophie (three)] and baby boy, Xander (five). Her passion is helping children and families living with Sensory Processing Disorder and other special needs.

You’ll find her work in many online and in-print parenting, inspirational, Christian and writing publications in Canada, United States, Australia, and Britain. In addition, she’s authored an award-winning children’s book (I’m Not Weird, I Have SPD), two memoirs (the multi award-winning, Not Just Spirited: A Mom’s Sensational Journey With SPD and White Elephants), a Young Adult novel (Blackbird Flies), an adult Suspense/Thriller (Out Of Sync to be released March 2012), and a Young Adult Suspense/Mystery/Paranormal/Sweet Romance (Undertow, to be released 2012). She’s also working on a sequel to Not Just Spirited called Not Just Spirited: The Journey Continues and a few other projects in the works for Middle Grade and Young Adult readers.

Please visit Chynna’s website at www.chynna-laird-author.com, as well as her blogs at www.the-gift-blog.com and www.seethewhiteelephants.com, to get a feel for her work and what inspires her.

2 Comments

Filed under Advice, Believe, books, emotion, Inspiration, Perseverance, writers

a poem a pic a day: day 19

Together

we laugh

we cry

we talk in movie quotes

we dream of owning a home

rocking on the porch with our teeth in a jar

hold my hand, so small in yours

hold my heart

so surrendered so long ago

our gems grow and glisten in their own light

it will be us

in the end

######

Well, day 30. I completed 19 out of 30 days. Not bad for a first shot at this a pic and poem a day. To those of you who write poetry regularly, I SALUTE you. Damn, it’s hard. But refreshing and emotional and soul-searching.

I’ll continue to search my soul… and maybe share those musings here in poetry form. But for now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Was there ever one?? ; )

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

what did you think of the poetry month theme? and the pics to correspond? Wanna see more of this type on my blog? I nurture my creative spirit and tap into that deep dusty place where inspiration lies, but since I’m sharing it with the world, it’s only polite to ask your opinions. So, thoughts?

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

a poem a pic a day: day 18


in the gutter

of my mind

my heart

my future

with the leaves of winter

wilted, mush, wet

cold and alone and swept

to the gutter

wash away last season’s regret

old ideas and conversations

rake out my fear

my anger

my pain

just don’t walk on by

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

a poem a pic a day: day 17

Tween then and now

Today

my name is

silky purple giggle

Tomorrow

my name will be

shunned and bruised

top of the pyramid with dimples on both cheeks

cheerleader with her period

whispers and sleep overs, conjure spirits, talk of first kisses

I experiment with makeup, imagine my first kiss

think I’m in the clique, think I’m the shit

she still harasses me about not owning  a banana clip

I’m center in their ring of taunts

wearing a dingy pink puffy coat

Paiselys are cool, aren’t they?

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry, Voice, Young Adults

a poem a pic a day: day 16

Awoken Among The Dead

by: David Michael Campbell III

You don’t know how it started,
How it came to be this way,
For nothing from before the Awakening
Can be recalled to mind,
Almost as if it had never even
Existed to begin with, but who knows,
Perhaps it didn’t…

It all began as your eyelids,
Oh, seeming so heavy after what a journey,
Flutter open, and trying to comprehend your
Surroundings, you sit up, and feel something
Warm, and oddly vacant of the life it once
Brought.

You do not need to glance down to
Realize it’s the reddest of all bloods, not
Even beginning to dry yet.
You lay in the grass of a large courtyard,
Tall, rubble style buildings tower around
You and stare down fiercely with flaming
Exterior features.

But between the blotches of blood and
Garbage littering the once beauty of the
Courtyard, lie bodies,
Scattered and torn gruesomely,
Projecting the most grotesque of images
That man can imagine.

Weak stomached and unable to take the
Misery, you double over to vomit, but hold
It down with a gag or two when you
Realize you are starring into a fraction of cracked
Glass, and you vomit anyways, not capable of
The will power after seeing your own face.

You wipe your mouth from the rancid
Taste with the sleeve of your white coat
You wear, linen and matching long, scratchy pants.
Trying to recreate the reflection of your face
In your mind makes you wish you had never
Woken up, although that should be the
Least of your reasons why.

You recall a bald head, infested with long,
Bulging scars and veins, seeming as if they will
Burst all over the rest of your scalp.
Your nose is crooked and tilted slightly upward,
And as for your mouth, the corners are stitched
Sloppily and barely, disabling you ability to
Fully open your mouth.

Your eyes seem to be the worst remark
Of horror, for no pupil exists on either of them,
And the surrounding area remains bloodshot and
Hinting a slight tone of yellow, fading into
A whitish blend of colors towards the center.

Shakily, you hobble up and plant your feet
Firmly on the ground.
A quick scan of the surface area shows all
The limp, lifeless bodies to have the same
Features of yours in a general sense, and also
The exact same apparel, looking past the difference
In blood splatters and various tears and wounds.

You look up at the buildings, only to
See more bodies hanging over the edges of the broken
Windows far above, their arms swaying in a some what
Gentle sort of breeze.
Foundations look as if they are starting to
Crumble and collapse.
Flames flicker throughout, randomly, and
Other then the occasional crash or bending of falling
Concrete or steel, silence fills the
Crowd of the dead like a plague.

Behind you, three enormous crosses stand,
Burnt, black, and blowing away with the whistling wind
As ash and faint traces of smoke, spiraling upwards.
One, crisped skeleton like body is stapled to
Each of the crosses,
Jaws hanging open in an endless scream,
Eyes nothing more than pits of everlasting
Blackness, just as their nimble, twig like bodies and
Limbs portray quite sickly.

Shocked, you stumble back and fall over one
Of the thousands of bodies, only to make
A sound similar to that of a scream, and jump back up,
Then hurry out of the courtyard and
Crashing down a door into one of the skyscrapers.

You curl up in a blood soaked corner and
Cry in your hands, and think in between sniffs
Of sorrow: “Where am I? What am I?”, for
Because of your monstrous voice and identical
Appearance to the dead things, gender cannot
Be determined.

After all this trauma, you cannot take it,
“For how had it come to be such as all this?”
You think as you start to climb the
Stairs up the building, maneuvering around bodies
And gaps that lead all the way back to the
Ground below.

“Why must I be the one to endure this
Purest of all tortures?” You think as you
Perch yourself on the windowsill, the
Jagged glass sinking into your already blood
Covered, bare feet.

And with the extension of your legs, you
Go flying through the air,
The leap of faith, the tragedies of buildings
Pass by in a sudden blur of vision,
And as you become eye level with the three burnt bodies,
Hanging form the crosses, time seems to slow,
Almost to an utter stop.
A whisper escapes your stitched mouth,
And a tear flows from your cheek.
“Why have all these people died?”

Suddenly, the first body on the cross opens its
Mouth, and yells in a raspy scream:
“It hath cometh when all of mankind
Had seemed to begin to deserve all that
Hath rained down upon this land!”
And its jaw slowly closes and does not
Move again that you can easily tell.

You look over to the second body on the cross
Just as it speaks in the same voice as the first:
“You, out of all the others that lie before me, have
Been thought to have the richest, strongest soul,
Although, now as you fall, I doubt us three had made
The right assumption,” and just as the first,
It closes its jaw and stares far ahead at
Nothing in particular.

You don’t even have time to gaze over to
The third body when it speaks in the same
Pitch as the first two, although much less polite:
“Why have these people all died, you ask?
Aye, well they have done the same as you
Are doing right this instant, youngest one!”
And all three skeletons mouths open
Crookedly to utter a hardy, yet quite terrifying
Screech of a laugh as you near the ground.

Nothing more is remembered.
No feeling of impact or pain.
The Others have told you it was quite the
Same experience with them as well,
And although they have no one more to watch,
Effortlessly trying and killing themselves, all
The same way,
They do enjoy the company of one more, just
As they always have.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry