Kerry Johnson's Blog
April 26, 2019
Lifted Up
Family walks are a way of life in our house. A few times a week–when our boys aren’t at Jui Jitsu–we walk a couple of miles around our neighborhood.
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Since our boys were in diapers, they’ve dealt with walks (not always pleasantly). First they rode in strollers, then they toddled beside us, eventually graduating to walking all on their own.
I grew up taking walks on the steep Connecticut hills, and it was both exercise and family time during my childhood. My parents held hands as we traversed Bradley Lane and called out ‘hellos’ to neighbors through the trees and rocks.
During one of our recent evening walks we noticed a small form in the road, and the traffic was light enough for us to investigate.
“Is that a bird?” One of us asked.
I surely wasn’t leaving a helpless animal in the middle of the road, so I dashed over, my imagination already running through wildlife scenarios. My boys followed, and my husband trailed behind (probably worried the animal would end up returning home with us). 
July 23, 2018
Hang On
My older son was born with a desire to get off the ground.
[image error]From toddlerhood on, Cole has climbed. And climbed. And climbed higher.
When he was two, we transitioned him out of his crib in order to pass it on to his younger brother Chase, who spent the first couple months of his life sleeping in the pack-n-play. The boys are twenty-one months apart, so sharing furniture, beds, and toys was (is) a way of life.
The first night we moved the crib into Chase’s room, we put a gate in Cole’s bedroom doorway to block Cole in his room. My memories of that first night aren’t clear–probably wiped away from a lack of sleep.
But I do remember that one gate wasn’t enough to restrain our first-born.
Determined to teach Cole to stay in his new bed, we used two gates in his bedroom doorway the second night. We left a couple inches between them, and six-eight inches of daylight above the doubled-up gates. Either way, the gate-wall was at least six feet high.
Trev and I breathed a sigh of relief and settled in for a movie, or maybe an exciting evening of laundry and quiet. It didn’t last. The distinct pitter-patter-clunk-clunk-clunk then pitter-patter, pitter-patter of small feet carried from the hallway. Seconds later a grinning toddler rushed out of the hall and into our great room.
Cole had conquered his first warped (gate) wall at the age of 2 (leaving both gates intact).
He just turned fourteen, and still loves climbing. In fact, we discovered a local gym that offers parkour for kids and adults, and we go often, especially in the summer.
I don’t understand my son’s passion for climbing playground equipment, trees, gazebos, and buildings, but it’s probably the same thing that drives me to create characters and write stories.
During our last visit to the parkour place, Cole struggled to get up the biggest warped wall. We hadn’t made it to the parkour place often during the school year; instead he’d been doing different types of workouts at home.
But he set his mind to conquer the fourteen-foot, six-inch black wall and (after four tries), Cole finally made it. Once his fingers found and gripped the top, he hung there for a couple of seconds, relief loosening his taut frame.
[image error]Once his grip was secure, the climb up proved easier than the journey to the top.
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All the desire in the world will only get him so far up that daunting obstacle. Cole must prepare beforehand to experience success on the big wall. Had he not been working out and rope and tree climbing in our backyard, he never would’ve made it.
Writing World Parallels:
To reach the top (multi-book publication & readers who beg for more stories), years of preparation are necessary. A burning desire to climb higher with stories is a great foundation, but it takes…
Words. Lots of words. I’m currently writing my seventh manuscript. While a couple of those aren’t fully edited, clean stories, they’re written (birthed during NaNoWriMo). Once I learned the basic foundation of story, POV, entered a few contests, exchanged chapters with critique partners, attended writing conferences, pitched {poorly} to agents, and heard positive feedback from other (respected) writers, I then needed to…
Study the market and learn it not only takes a unique story with strong, clean writing, but also a great hook. What’s the heart of your story? One of the hardest things to grasp and create is a gripping hook.
What is a hook? It’s the tempting morsel of your story you hand out to readers that (hopefully) draws them closer, for more.
Readers are like fish. Smart fish. Fish who know authors are out to get them, reel them in, and capture them for the rest of their seagoing lives. But, like any self-respecting fish, readers aren’t caught easily. They aren’t about to surrender themselves to the lure of your story unless you’ve presented them with an irresistible hook. – K.M. Weiland
[image error]4. I used to wish this journey to publication was shorter. Easier. Less traumatizing and skin-thickening and rejection-gathering. But the period of preparation is the exact foundation we need to climb up the publishing wall and hit that red button of victory.
Writers, hang on. Keep practicing. Don’t give up!
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April 9, 2018
Flying Fear
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“That bird does not want to eat you.”
Mango squawked his disagreement. Our moody Sun Conure perched on his homemade wooden stand on the lanai, the relentless Florida sun pressing through the screen, even in early April.
Mango had just enjoyed a warm lanai shower, via the hose, and now anxiously watched the dark brown bird gliding overhead. We live near a large cluster of woods, and various birds and creatures visit our bird feeder all times of the day and night.
Vultures often fly overhead, long jagged feathers outlined against the bright blue sky. I wonder if they see our dog’s battered, stuffed animal toys dotting our fenced backyard and inspect them to make sure they’re not potential meals.
March 11, 2018
We Will Never Stop Looking
I tucked Chase into bed tonight, closing my eyes as I kissed his forehead. And I saw that man’s face again.
During a quick stop at a local Books a Million with my two boys, I was on the hunt for author Mary Weber’s new YA sci-fi story, Reclaiming Shiloh Snow–a story birthed from her heart for young people caught in human trafficking.
I had no idea how God would yank my eyes open about that very thing, minutes later.
Older son Cole asked to look at self-defense and martial arts books. Because he’s 5’10 and nearly fourteen, I didn’t hesitate letting him cross the main aisle. Chase wanted to check out Legos and Lego books. Since I’d only be a minute or two, I gave him permission to look at Legos while I quickly checked for the book.
The YA section is three aisles from the middle grade and Lego section, so after coming up empty-handed I headed toward Chase. Less than two minutes passed since I’d watched him hurry down the long middle aisle, toward the middle grade area.
I glanced right–Cole perused self-defense and martial arts books. I said his name, he looked up and nodded. I motioned for him to hurry and told him I’d be with his brother. As I rounded the corner, I immediately saw Chase.
With a man standing a few feet past him, intently watching my child.
Caucasian, above-average height, slim-to-medium build. Tan shorts hitting just at his knees. White t-shirt under a dull orange jacket, jipped halfway up. His orange ball-cap was nearly the same shade as his jacket, with medium brown hair peeking out and a full beard reaching just below his chin.
Perhaps in his mid thirties, he could easily have been a father looking for books for his child. But he wasn’t. He was scoping out my child.
Fire and anger and maternal wildcat emerged. I growled Chase’s name and stepped toward him. The man looked up, meeting my eyes.
I’m still analyzing what I saw. Surprise. Acceptance. A shutting down, moving away that wasn’t frenzied but calm, purposeful.
I glared at him as he melted away, heading toward the back of the middle grade section, his orange ball-cap visible above the shelves. I watched that ball-cap skirting the middle grade section, turning toward the comic book section. I followed, Chase and Cole with me, staring as he pretended to read a comic book, then made his way to the back entrance of the store, which emptied into the parking lot.
We lost him for a couple minutes, but saw him again as he sat cross-legged on the floor near the magazines (on the other side of the store, no children in sight, though it seemed a heavy-set woman stood beside him).
In retrospect I wish I’d done more than mention it to the cashier as we checked out. Once we got home, I called the store and spoke to a helpful young man who asked for a detailed description and thanked me for calling.
Still, it didn’t feel like I’d done enough.
PARENTS, please hear me on this. Talk to your children about this. If nothing else, I’m thankful this situation allowed me to speak at length with our boys and share this experience as a reminder to other parents.
Cole said he would’ve “taken that man down if he tried to touch Chase.” But these disgusting animals have different tactics for different age groups. Chase isn’t tall, but he’s solid. The man would’ve had a difficult time carrying him out of the store.
But he might have said, “Your mom is outside, hurt. She fell and the ambulance is coming. She’s calling for you. Hurry, I’ll take you to her.”
Talk to your children about this. Come up with a code word, a plan of action. Something to help any age child if they’re in this situation. My boys were aware of stranger danger, but not to the depth they are now. And because they’re 11 1/2 and 13, my level of concern for this had decreased.
No longer.
Because make no mistake.
There is a business in this. A devil-delighted, evil, soul-stealing monetary side to human trafficking that makes me want to vomit and scream and do something savage because it’s about
C H I L D R E N.
The most H E L P L E S S among us.
To those caught in the web: W E W I L L N E V E R S T O P L O O K I N G
“Open your mouth for the speechless.” (Prov. 31:8)
The man in the orange ball-cap and jacket? I WILL NEVER STOP LOOKING FOR YOU.
Links to find out more about human trafficking and donate:
Wellspring Living–White Umbrella Campaign
Operation Underground Railroad
February 5, 2018
Meanwhile, On Cloud 9…
So this thing happened over the weekend. This amazing thing that all writers dream of.
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For years I’ve prayed for the right agent. God has held me back in a couple of circumstances, telling me no when I didn’t want that answer. Or keeping doors shut I thought I wanted open.
Meanwhile He kept me moving forward, writing more stories, exploring different genres, learning the craft so I can help other writers.
{I LOVE THAT PART!}
And now I am beyond grateful to sign with Ali Herring of Spencerhill Associates. Ali read my contemporary romance and sent an incredibly gracious and enthusiastic offer of representation that spoke to my heart and answered my prayers.
I’m so thrilled! And grateful beyond words. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for this story and my other stories, and to partner with Ali to share them with the world.
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On a funny note, when I was planning the signing picture, I wanted to wear my purple, “Please Go Away, I’m Writing” t-shirt from my wonderful parents.
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But when Trev took the picture, it mostly just looked like my t-shirt said “Please Go Away.”
January 28, 2018
A Perfect Gift
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God recently surprised me above what I could have asked or imagined. As my tears flowed and shock coursed through my veins, James 1:7 flashed in my mind.
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.”
My local writers’ group asked if I’d put together a presentation on entering writing contests for our January meeting. Though the thought of getting in front of adults makes my stomach somersault, I’d had a feeling for months that this would be part of my writing path.
Sharing what I’ve learned. Helping other writers on their publishing journey. Guiding those a few steps behind, so they can catch up.
I was nervous but really excited {but nervous}.
(Did I mention I was nervous?)
In preparation I pulled together this information and that information, eager to share all I’d learned in a *hopefully* positive and coherent manner.
A couple writer friends from the group got in touch, letting me know they’d be there. Grateful for their support, I gathered my materials that evening and headed to the church where we meet.
I arrived fifteen minutes early, just behind a group member who’s about to move. We chatted about the process of packing up her home of many years. I unloaded the books I’d brought and set out the paperwork for the presentation on entering writing contests.
A couple minutes later, another person walked in. When I glanced sideways, smiling a welcome, my breath caught.
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Someone so dear, so unexpected, walked in. And though we’d never met, I knew her.
Almost three years ago, Vie judged my entry in a contest (I didn’t know this at the time; we only connected afterward, when I emailed my thank you letters to judges).
Her comments on that entry (my middle grade story) touched and encouraged me tremendously. In some moments, those precious words kept me afloat amidst a sea of negativity and rejection.
I printed the email and taped her comments to my computer and the bulletin board in our office.
I read and reread those words when road blocks and closed doors and sheer time weighed on my shoulders and made me want to give up.
I hoped and prayed to meet her one day and give her a big hug for the gift she’d been and the kind encouragement she showed.
We live quite far apart, and finding an opportunity to meet at writing conferences never materialized.
So when she appeared that evening, smiling tentatively as I’m about to give a presentation on writing contests, I lost it. (She wasn’t sure if I’d recognize her.)
She said she’ll never forget my face. I just remember bursting into tears because of the gift it was to see her in person, at that moment.
(She happened to be in my home state when she saw my post about the presentation.)
Having her there….it meant the world. It was a gift from God I hadn’t expected. But isn’t that just like the Lord? We think we want this or that, and instead He surprises us with such good and perfect gifts.
This sweet woman’s encouragement three years ago also affirmed the heart of my presentation that night:
We’re not writing in a vacuum. Pray for others. Encourage others. God calls us to love and serve others on this writing journey (sometimes, even above ourselves).
This is the key ingredient to the writing life…loving and helping others. Otherwise, we write in vain.
“I thank my God upon every remembrance of you…” (Phil. 1:3)
January 17, 2018
Do Knot Give Up
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Happy New Year, friends! I can’t believe we’re already halfway through January. Are you staying warm? It’s been chilly, even in Florida.
I hope you & yours had a peaceful Christmas with family & friends.
In late December, I pondered adopting a ‘word’ for 2018. Usually I pray and pay close attention to scripture and specific verses the Lord brings to mind. One of my favorite memories from Christmas, 2017 ties in (literally) to the verse I focused on.
Romans 12:12: rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer ———> Persevere in faith
A few weeks before Christmas, we braved a trip through Wal-Mart on a quick-as-can-be errand. My younger son has always loved stuffed animals, cozy blankets, and soft things. He’s older now and mostly graduated from stuffed animals (other than the Minecraft plush toys smothering his bed).
But that afternoon, something caught Chase’s eye in the aisle at Wal-Mart.
A huge, soft red knot.
[image error]The adult head-sized fabric knot was unique and fun. The boys tossed a blue one back and forth across the aisle, and Chase inquired about getting a red knot.
I said no, Christmas is right around the corner, and we continued with our day. But I filed it away in my brain as a Christmas present possibility.
Flash forward to two days before Christmas. One more quick errand to Wal-Mart for extra tape and stocking stuffers. On my way around the store, I notice a low shelf with a few fabric knots left. (This was in a different store.)
One red and one black knot, perfect! Their school colors.
Chase likes red and Cole likes black. I purchased them and headed home. My germaphobe side cringed at the possibility of dozens of people and kids touching, licking, dropping, sneezing, kicking, and drooling on the soft knots.
I waited until the boys were in bed then shoved them in the washer. 45 minutes later, I transferred them to the dryer, expecting to wake up to dry knots on Christmas Eve.
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Knot so much.
The formidable knots knocked the dryer door open two minutes into the cycle. Notice the blue tape on the left? Hubby used painter’s tape to keep the door shut.
NOW they would dry.
Wouldn’t they?
Throughout Christmas Eve day, I started the dryer at least a dozen more times. Those knots WOULD. NOT. DRY!
By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, and we’d partaken of our annual homemade-hot-chocolate-doused-with-marshmallows and watched our Christmas Eve movie (The Grinch), they still hadn’t dried all the way.
But I kept checking and drying and checking and drying, and around midnight the knots were finally (barely) dry enough.
I couldn’t help thinking of Romans 12:12.
Persevere.
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Are you tired of persevering?
I’m with you, friend. That “I might as well give up” feeling? Or the “why is this such a long, confusing path” cry? I’ve felt it and fought it off lately.
Do knot give up!
Remember: God IS faithful. Persevere, friend!
“Trust in the Lord with your heart, and klean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”
December 24, 2017
Starting Tiny
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What’s your favorite fruit?
We eat a lot of apples and strawberries in our house. I also love blueberries and raspberries, though no one else in my family shares my passion for them.
During the winter, I probably cut up two apples a day, dicing through skin and fruit flesh into four or eight slices to share.
When the apple splits open and those little, tightly packed seeds appear, I smile because I used to believe if I swallowed an apple seed I’d grow an apple tree in my tummy. (Six-year-old naiveté.)
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Now when I hold those tiny buds of new life in my hands, I’m always amazed by God’s creation. How ten or fifteen-foot-trees sprout from such humble beginnings, and then dozens, maybe hundreds of blossoms appear.
Followed by too many apples to count.
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Out of curiosity I looked up apple seeds & trees. In Florida, citrus trees thrive better than apple, but there are a few variety of apple trees that can grow in our humid, damp climate. Normally it takes four to ten years for an apple tree to reach maturity and produce fruit.
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This Christmas, while fighting the nonstop traffic and baking cookies and racing to find the perfect present, I’ve been desperate to keep my eyes on Jesus.
On God’s gift, starting so tiny and helpless yet bursting with hope and grace and forgiveness.
God could easily have sent His Son as a young man, or even as an adult to lead & teach the disciples, then go to the Cross to fulfill His part of God’s perfect plan.
But instead, He sent a precious seed of His grace…so small, so perfect, to grow into our Savior and experience life on earth as we do.
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This Christmas, I pray you and yours experience God’s love in a powerful way, remembering the tiny start to our Savior’s life and the enormous grace we’re offered through Him.
Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift! (2 Cor. 9:15)
Filed under: Musings Tagged: Apples, candidkerry, Christmas, Jesus
November 2, 2017
Habits: the Good & the Bad
Habit [NOUN]: A settled or regular tendency or practice, especially one that is hard to give up.
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Habits.
We all have them. Some are good, others are bad.
A couple of mine? I pick at my lips and stay up waaay too late.
One of my sons never, ever, ever closes drawers. And my other son is a dirty clothes artist–aka, he leaves his school clothes in rather artistic piles… always on his bedroom floor.
(But on the flip side, one of them gives warm, fuzzy hugs regularly and the other reads whatever and whenever he can.)
Often, we agonize over breaking bad habits.
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Recently my younger son stumbled into our bedroom at 2am. He’s eleven, so unless he or his brother are sick, they’re tucked in their beds between 9:30pm and 7am.
If you’re close to me, you know that I’m 95% human and 5% beast. My beast mode kicks in between midnight and 7am. No joke, my sister had to {carefully} wake me up on Christmas morning when we were kids. I do not do mornings unless provoked and/or coerced.
Anyway, Chase stumbles into our bedroom at 2am. “Can I sleep with you guys?”
“Grfghrgrlk?” We’ve never been big on the boys sleeping with us. As babies they did occasionally, and during illness as toddlers, but overall we keep our bed ours.
He tries his dad, who thankfully remains human in the deep, dark hours of the night. “Can I sleep in here?”
“Did you have a bad dream?”
“No, I just want to sleep in here.”
My wonderful human husband climbs out of bed, guides Chase back to his bedroom (which he shares with our older son), and lays down with him for several minutes. Thankfully Chase remains asleep and the night continues as normal.
Until the next night.
And the next night.
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“Waking up at 2am has become a habit.” I mention gently on the third day. He nods in understanding. He didn’t want to wake up, but couldn’t help it anymore.
At bedtime on the fourth evening, I asked about bad dreams again. None, he reassured me. We prayed and they got an extra long back scratch. Just as my hubby and I walked out, Chase unraveled from his blanket cocoon.
“Can you lay the clock down? It’s too bright and when I wake up it reminds me that I’m sleeping.”
Ah. The proverbial lightbulb flashed on.
A few days earlier, I purchased a small silver alarm clock for the boys’ room. Huge green letters filled the screen so that Cole could see it on his bookshelf, from his bed (his eyesight isn’t great, and he takes his glasses off at night).
So I laid the clock on its back, and sure enough, Chase slept through the night. And again the next night.
The bad habit was broken.
The situation got me thinking about habits. Bad ones, and good ones.
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NaNoWriMo 2017 has begun.
For those who don’t know, it’s a write-a-thon set during the month of November. “National Novel Writing Month.” Thousands of writers across the country (world?) pound out 50,000 words of a story by November 30th. You don’t have to finish the story, just the 50k words.
Some make it, some don’t. The point is to Write. Every. Single. Day.
I enjoy the camaraderie on social media and the internal & external incentive to get words on a page. NaNoWriMo always readjusts the good habit of writing every day.
{NO EDITING ALLOWED}
If you’re on this NaNoWriMo journey, best wishes on adjusting to this new, good habit. Figure out what helps you write better and faster (plotting beforehand, writing at night when your house is silent, consuming nine cups of coffee & an entire bag of M & M’s, etc…)
Then write. Because writers write.
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YOU. CAN. DO. THIS!
Filed under: Musings Tagged: Authors, books, habits, Kids, NaNoWriMo, writing
October 20, 2017
Me, too…But then
You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?
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This post is a little different, though.
I’ve experienced situations with harassment and sexual advances that were totally unwarranted. Unwelcome and icky. Both occurred in high school.
The first was during PE, in a rowdy class of 10th & 11th graders. It began with leering looks from a boy no bigger than me, but determined. So determined. I avoided him when possible, because he was rough and lewd and all hands.
I’m thankful it ended before things grew worse.
The second situation occurred at my first official place of employment–Burger King, back in the day when Lion King toys stuffed the kids’ meals and customers paying via credit card was impossible.
(Wow, I’m dating myself terribly.)
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Anyway, a young man joined the crew a few months after I did. His verbal teasing and overlong looks turned quickly into a poke here, a grab there. Leering and innuendos that made me nauseous.
We’ll call him Joe.
*Good time to note I also met my future husband at Burger King.*
Joe enjoyed hiding in the walk-in cooler or behind corners then jumping out, scaring me. A couple of times, his hands were involved and his leering increased to uncomfortable levels.
I mentioned it to Trevor.
While washing trays in the huge silver sinks one day, water suddenly soaked my leg. A tight vise gripped my calf. I jumped back, nearly tripping, recognizing my tormentor below the sink, wielding one of the faucet handles (they stretched really far), spraying my uniform pants and grinning lecherously.
I’m sure I shouted something, because I’m not quiet and one of my pant legs was soaked.
I was ticked.
Trevor appeared, my knight-in-shining Burger King uniform.
I can still picture it as clear as it happened twenty-three years ago. Calm, steady Trevor reached down, dragged Joe to standing then held him out, his hand wrapped around Joe’s throat. He didn’t let go of his throat as Joe wiggled, jerking around like a rag doll, punching Trev in the face a couple of times to get him to let loose.
I don’t remember what was said or how long until the manager broke it up, but I’ll never forget the wild-eyed look of shock on Joe’s face when Trev finally dropped him.
He never bothered me again, and I’m so thankful I was a “me, too… but then.” ❤
Parents–let’s raise our boys (and girls) to honor and love the Lord and respect others. To be the “but then” makers in their lives. This starts in our own hearts and homes.
Because each person is Hand-Made and precious.
Meanwhile, there are so many women with far worse situations than I experienced. Jobs threatened or lost. Memories they wish could be erased and devious, hurtful actions that changed the course of their life. Broken hearts from betrayal of the worst kind.
I hope you know that God loves you and He can heal your hidden wounds.
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“The Lord also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble. And those who know Your name will put their trust in You; For You, Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You.”
(Ps. 9: & 10)
Filed under: Musings Tagged: God's love, healing, me too, Proverbs 147:3, sexual harrassment
