August « 2011 « Christa Allan, author of not your usual Christian fiction

August 26, 2011

I am from. . .

Filed under: Blog,Writing — Christa Allan @ 8:40 am

Note from Christa: A variation of this made the internet rounds recently, and I found the one I wrote some time ago,. While I’m careening into deadline, I thought I’d share this with you.

I am from hurricane swept houses and rain drenched streets,

waking on lazy Sunday mornings to my father cooking bacon and scrambled eggs,

green and green plaid pleated uniforms with blazers and black and white saddle oxfords,

watching the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show,

afternoons at the kitchen table sharing cups of freshly brewed chickory coffee with my grandmother,

a submarine gray Rambler with no air conditioning that transported three adults and two children to the hills of Tennessee,

crawfish boils and chocolate snoballs and lakefront barbecues,

TG&Y and K&B purple and D.H. Holmes and Winn-Dixie and Mardi Gras parades,

and blistering summers, and evening showers

where, if your heart listens, it can hear the rain drops sizzle as they sacrifice themselves to the raging heat of the concrete sidewalks.

I am from yesterday, in today and headed to tomorrow.

PHOTO: Pond around the corner from my home. I shot this picture on the way to school one morning.

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August 10, 2011

What’s my excuse?

Filed under: Blog,Faith — Tags: Girlfriends Book Club, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Sob Sisters, Starbucks — Christa Allan @ 12:41 am

So, let me explain why what I will share later seems not a coincidence:

I subscribe to Girlfriends Book Club, one of those blogs I’m glad to have stumbled upon because of the honesty and humor of the fifty or so women writers who contribute.

This morning, Hank Phillippi Ryan ‘s blog post was Sob Sisters, about crying, and that she cries at everything. I almost cried because I discovered someone who cried as much as I do. Theaters would probably post our headshots in their employee lounge and issue an alert if we tried to watch almost anything together.

Just to name a very few, here are my crybaby movies: Up, batteries not included, Steel Magnolias, Terms of Endearment, 50 First Dates, Forest Gump, Wall-E, An Officer and A Gentleman, Cinema Paradiso, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Toy Story 3

Movies I refuse to see because, though they aren’t documentaries, I know real people died, and I can’t bear it: Schindler’s List, Titanic, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, Sophie’s Choice (I can’t even walk by the book without shuddering), Band of Brothers

I’m not apologizing for the tears, and I no longer allow myself to be bullied into sitting through movies that serve me my own raw heart. And all of you, “it’s just a movie” people: if that is true, then the writer, producer, actors–somebody failed you–because it’s not supposed to be “just a.” It’s supposed to be you suspending reality for those 60, 90 or however many minutes you’re plopped in front of the screen.

Here’s a quote from Hank’s post about her and her friends defining “sad” (as in “bring on the tears”) in movies/books:

“We decided “sad” was: unintended consequences. People just trying to do what was right, and then it goes wrong. War. Mistakes. Unfulfilled love. Missing someone, or departures. Saying goodbye. Bravery. Sacrifice.”

And that leads me to what you will read below. The husband dropped me off at Starbucks this morning, and he went Hi-Ho-Hi-Ho-ing. It’s a 90 minute drive, so I’m totally out of my facial recognition zone, which makes it an excellent place for me to write. What prompted me to tie all this together (quite assumptive on my part), play connect-the-dots, was the discussion on Girlfriends Book Club this morning about those things that tug at our hearts and flood our tear ducts. And note the last two items in the definition above.

It’s after lunch, and the heat index is well over 100.

A young black man, earbuds hanging around his neck, backward baseball cap, white tee, dark shorts swings into Starbucks, walks out with an iced tea, then hurries to cross two traffic-choked streets.

He has an athletic build, a strong face. As I watch, I realize I’ve seen him all morning.

Since daylight, he has stood at the curb of a four-lane highway, wearing a “sandwich board” sign that says “We buy gold.”

And by stood, I mean stood. The entire time.

He came back to Starbucks about 5:00, another tea, another out-the-door. This time, like last, he didn’t linger, stop to read a headline, check his phone. In, iced tea, out.

I don’t see him standing by the curb, so I’m thinking he’s finished for the day. And I’m relieved.

But, no. Back he goes to the curb, hoists the sign over his head, and stands.

And inside I’m screaming, “Go home. Go home.”

But I’m screaming it, not for him, but for me. Because watching him hurts my soul. Watching him reminds me of all those times I was unwilling, prideful, selfish.

I am humbled by what he is doing, and I admire this young man who is willing to do this.

I wonder what motivates him to endure this sweltering, suffocating, relentless sun to stand -alone-sipping his iced tea—

I want to give him money, give him a job, inside, where there’s cold air

I want to take my students to Starbucks and while they sip their lattes-like I did today- and point to him and tell them—

that is courage

that is humility

that is honorable

that is the living example of doing whatever it takes

photo: http://harrumpher.com/?m=201102

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August 1, 2011

It’s official: The Edge of Grace releases today

Filed under: Blog,Faith,Relationships,Writing — Tags: Abingdon Press, Christian fiction, Fresh Fiction, gay, Patricia Woodside, The Edge of Grace — Christa Allan @ 1:11 am

Over a decade ago, my brother-my only sibling-told me he was gay. The news fractured our relationship, but the truth of it is, I was the one with the hammer.

It took years, too many years, for me to realize that placing the word “gay” in front of the word “brother” did not change the substance of the person I’d known and loved all my life. He is my brother, and I don’t define him by his sexual orientation. In fact, he doesn’t define me by mine either.

My brother’s partner of over fifteen years being attacked in the French Quarter was my motivation for getting serious about the novel.

I’m sharing this because it’s important to me that my readers know this book is rooted in my own experiences, and my brother fully and enthusiastically supported this novel.

While still in the process of writing, I had the following conversation with a friend:

Friend: ”What’s the premise of your new novel?”

Me: “It’s about a sister who finds out that her brother is gay.”

Friend: “And?”

Me:”It’s being published by a Christian publishing house.”

Friend: “Oh!”

I am deeply grateful to Abingdon Press, as a Christian publishing house, for bring this novel to print. Their willingness to stand behind this project has been a gift.

Patricia Woodside, in her review of the novel for Fresh Fiction (where you can read the entire post) wrote:

“With the increasingly visible and vocal presence of homosexuals in American society, with Christians at odds over gay churches, gay marriages and gays, in general, this book might help readers to do what in-your-face protests, media broadcasts and legislative changes cannot, i.e. to consider the totality of God’s love and grace.”

Amen, sister, Amen.