Mel and I had an interesting conversation this morning at breakfast. I asked, “Honey, what’s your definition of glamour?”

Mel: I’d say that was the substance of being glamorous.

Cheryl: Thank you, Mr. Webster. I’m serious.

Mel: I guess you’re talking about the practice of wearing fancy clothes and going out for an expensive evening on the town.

Cheryl: Is that all there is to it? Doesn’t it have something to do with having perfect strangers recognize you on the street and gush? Oh, and then there are the jewels. You have to wear expensive jewels, and lots of them. And you need to be given an award for something to prove you’re good at it.
Mel: But the dress shouldn’t have a high slit up the side, or a very low décolletage, because then you’d be—

Cheryl: But maybe now we’re talking about fame. You know, recognition, fame, can’t go anywhere in privacy, and can’t even blow your nose in public without a photo of your scrunched up face hitting the tabloids.

Mel: Nice car. Got to have a nice car, which means you can’t have a high slit up the side of your dress because that wouldn’t be—

Cheryl: Why have a nice car when a limo will pick you up and take you to your private jet? A person might just forget how to drive. Does that mean we’d have to sell our manual shift?

Mel: Why sell? Give it away. Just think, if you’re famous, people will pay big money to own the car you drove, and you can give that money to charity.

Cheryl: But you’d have to make sure everyone knew about it so that photo would hit the tabloids to undo some of the damage done by the ugly photo of you blowing your nose.

Mel: You’d have to hang out with the right people, I hear. It’s great publicity leverage.

Cheryl: Who are the right people?

Mel: You know, other glamorous people who wear jewels and nice clothes and are famous. But you shouldn’t hang out with people who wear high slits up the sides of their—

Cheryl: Why are they famous?

Mel: Who cares? It doesn’t matter what they do to get there, they just have to be there.

Cheryl: Oh.

We sat in bed, finishing our breakfast in silence. Yes, we had breakfast in bed this morning. I think that’s what glamorous people do. Of course, I don’t think the glamorous people actually make their own breakfast. We’d have to change that if we actually were glamorous.
Unfortunately, that would mean losing more of our privacy to have a live-in housekeeper.

Cheryl: We’re not glamorous, are we?

Mel: No, thank goodness.

Cheryl: I was recognized on the street one day by a stranger.

Mel: That wasn’t a stranger, she was my cousin.

Cheryl: She was strange.

Mel: Do you actually want to be glamorous?

Cheryl: It seems to be what everyone expects of writers.

Mel: Unrealistic expectations. Are you happy doing what you do?

Cheryl: Ecstatic. I’m married to you, we’re silly a lot, we laugh a lot, we have a strong relationship with Jesus.

Mel: And we write.

Cheryl: Hard to do all that when you’re worried about your photo being splashed in the tabloids. Or when you’re hanging out with a bunch of people who are too worried about their image to relax and have fun.

Mel: Forget the glamour. I’ll take this life any day.

We have these kinds of conversations often. Maybe we’re naïve. Maybe we want to stay that way. Sure, we’ve had some brushes with glamour. Okay, not the expensive jewels, but I have a nice dress, and I do know how to apply makeup when I have to. I’m tempted to wear a skirt with a high slit up the side, because I know Mel would faint dead away, and I could take a picture for the tabloids…
Nah.

Hope to see you here again soon.

Glamour

The Good Comeback

Everything has now fallen into place. I know why I write!

 Have you ever had the experience of a friend, relative, stranger or enemy asking you a question you didn't know how to answer, or making a wisecrack for which you didn't have a good comeback until three days later?

That happened to Mel and me at a booksigning a couple of days ago. This woman came to our table holding a copy of our book, and asked, "Why do you call it inspirational fiction?"

 
I should have allowed one of our publisher's staff members to answer the question, since I actually wasn't the one who came up with that description, and that staff member would probably have had a much more effective answer. I said, "Well, uh, we're...um, you know, Christians? And we, uh, you know, write from our own Christian world view? We feel God offers hope to the world, you know? So that's kind of...well...inspiring." Honestly, I don't always reply that poorly, but the sneer on her face caught me off guard.

She made a big show of placing the book on the table as if it were a piece of...um...well, you know. "There are a lot of other things besides God that can inspire."

Then she promptly went to the other table with other writers of inspirational fiction and did the same thing to them. We compared notes later.

So that's why I write. Because when I'm writing a story, no one can come to me from the pages of the book and ask me a surprise, spur-of-the-moment question, for which I'm ill-prepared to answer. Writing gives me time to explore all my options and focus on the best possible reply to a seeking heart. I have the chance, during that precious time at the keyboard, to touch a life, maybe even to heal a hurt, or to inspire further thought.

In real life, I'm convinced that just about everyone on the planet is more intelligent than I am, and I don't have the words with which to share my heart. On paper, in my imagination, my characters are smarter than I am. They can say and do things I'd never dream of saying or doing. It's how I tell others about my God, about His goodness, mercy, love for them. Writing is the voice I don't have.

Cheryl Hodde