All posts by Leslie DeVooght

Southern Phrases

If you follow this blog, you know that I’m supposed to be taking a break from posting while I write a new book, but I need some help. But by the way, I’m halfway done as of today, so yeah! Of course, I’ll be rewriting lots from this first draft. In case your interested, the working title is Love at the Olive Orchard, and like I’ve said before, it takes place in a fictional South Georgia Town. As I’m writing, I find myself in desperate need of some great southern sayings.

I think we can all agree Southerner’s have the best way of turning a phrase, and I love to include the original ones in my stories. For example, my friend, Darryl,  recently commented at a pre-theatre dinner with the following phrase when describing a woman dancing. (don’t want you Northerners thinkin’ were not cultured down here.) Unnamed woman had more moves than a swiss army knife. Clearly, that is literary, and as soon as I could find a spot in one of my books, I stuck it in.

Now it’s your turn. Help me out. Comment below with your favorite Southern phrases. The more country (red neck) the better. Like we love to say in the South, we don’t hideaway our crazy. We set it in a rocker on the front porch and give it a glass of sweet tea.

Can’t wait to hear your suggestions.

Southern Sands Newsletter and Privacy Policy

Happy Summer Friends,

It has been awhile since a newsletter. Hopefully, you have been enjoying the blog posts and flash fiction stories. As we move into June, I will be taking off the month from posting, so I can write a new book. I have spent the last month researching and planning and have completed the first scene. It will start on St. Simons Island but most of the book will take place on an Olive Tree Farm in a fictional South Georgia town. If any of you have any knowledge about olive farming or blueberry farming, please send me an email. It is so important to me to get the details correct.

Hopefully, when I return in July, I will have a completed novel. Prayers are very welcome.

I’m happy to announce that I placed seventh in the 18th Writer’s Digest Short, Short Story Contest and my piece, Avoiding the Bouquet, will be published in the July/August edition of Writer’s Digest. Award Article

In more awards news, my mentor and writing coach Lindsey Bracket is a finalist for ACFW mentor of the year. Also, Lindsey’s book Still Waters recently won Best Debut Novel, Best Book, and The Director’s Choice Award at the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference. If you haven’t already read the book, get it for the summer. You won’t be disappointed.

Lately, I have been contributing regularly to BoldCityVoice.com. I’d love for you to check out this site. Lots of good stuff, and I will be doing author profiles. Lindsey is the first one. Working with this website has given me the chance to interview New York Times Bestselling Author Rachel Hauck. She also has a series set on St.Simons Island if you are interested in a sweet romance for the beach.

Okay, now for the boring, legal stuff. As you’ve probably noticed, all websites that have newsletters are required to send one of these notices and put a privacy policy on the website. Just when I thought I’d escaped the lawyer’s life. This is all due to a regulation from the EU.

But because I love y’all and wanted to actually give you a helpful tool, be sure to read to the end of this newsletter. I’m going to give you a great tip for organizing your subscriptions. By the way, I truly appreciate the support and encouragement from all of you. I could not keep doing this writing thing without you.

Here’s the Privacy Policy and Disclosure information for this www.lesliedevooght.com. You can find the policy HERE. For future reference, this page can be found under the In a Seashell tab on www.lesliedevooght.com. If you have ANY questions regarding this information, I would be more than happy to chat with you.

Please know that I take your privacy rights very seriously. I never share information with anyone without prior consent. And if at any time, you wish to remove your information from the list, all you have to do is unsubscribe. This option is provided at the bottom of every email you receive from me.

And I know it works because a very few people have chosen to use it. Of course, I prayed for their souls and asked Jesus to help me forgive them. Perhaps, one day when I’m a famous published author, they will choose to return, and I will embrace them as the father did in the prodigal son story. (Please know that I’m being slightly sarcastic. Slightly, because it really does hurt when I lose one of you wonderful followers.)

Here’s the Important Tool to keep following and keep your inbox organized. Seriously, friends, I’m about to share a fantastic secret, so be sure you read the next part. And if you missed the last part, it wasn’t very interesting anyways. So here it is, before you unsubscribe to my website or any other website (because if you’re like me you don’t want to miss the one email where Lands End gives the 75% off coupon.), I encourage you to use a rollup service, such as unroll.me. This service is free and helps you keep your inbox organized. You can use it to unsubscribe, keep in your inbox, or roll up the subscription. When you roll up your subscriptions, they all come in a single email that you can quickly scroll through and only open if one interest you. I keep all of my favorite stores here. It also checks your email inbox daily and offers you the choice of rolling up subscriptions or unsubscribing. (Again, here is the link unroll.me) Once again, remember who is giving you this fabulous advice and how you will break her heart if you unsubscribe. (Just sayin’)

I hope you have a fantastic June and will be back with you in July. 

Blessings, Leslie

A Constant Comfort by Christina Suzann Nelson

Christina Suzann Nelson, inspirational speaker and award-winning author of If We Make It Home, is celebrating the release of Swimming in the Deep End, on September 25, 2018. She writes and speaks about hope after dysfunction. Christina is over the top about her passions, including the stories created somewhere in the twists and turns of her less-than-focused brain. When she’s not writing, she’s working with the Every Child initiative, chasing escaped steers, reading, breathing in the sweet smell of her horse, hiking with her dog, or enjoying her just-as-crazy family.

One of the best parts of being an author is meeting and getting to know other writers, especially the ones who have written books you really enjoyed. Christina Suzann Nelson and I “met” in a Facebook Group because we were represented by the same literary agent. My book club chose to read her book, If We Make it Home, this year, and I cannot recommend it enough. It is a completely unique story of redemption, friendship, and survival. The last week proved incredibly difficult for Christina as you will read in her post, and I am so thankful she was able to take the time to share her story here. I know you will be touched by her words.

 

Thank you, Leslie, for offering me this blog spot. When I took you up on the opportunity, I had my life in order with all going as I planned and expected. I placed the date in my calendar and planned to write this segment in the week leading up to the deadline. No biggie. It’s not a huge commitment…I thought.

Let me tell you about that week I’d planned.

My father has been struggling with Parkinson’s for the last couple of years, especially the not as well-known aspect of the disease—dementia. A week before I was to turn in this post, we had to make a hard decision. It was time to stop the extra poking and prodding and move to comfort care. The best guess was one to two months.

But Parkinson’s never behaved well for my dad. Within a couple of days, he started to diminish. He no longer would eat, even the chocolate pudding that had become the go to food. Then he stopped taking liquids.

Last Tuesday, he passed away, leaving us stunned and reeling from the loss and the speed at which it happened. Two days later, we were at our rural cemetery saying our goodbyes. Needless to say, the blog post didn’t get written until now—the night before it’s due.

A few things have crossed my mind this last week, lessons I’m learning, and a few I keep trying to avoid. I won’t drag you through all the crazy thoughts ping-ponging around my brain, but here are a few:

We are not promised, nor are we owed, an easy life. “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33 NIV

Though this last week dripped of loss, sadness, and trials, there was peace. Peace sat with me at the hospice house, it allowed me to sleep, and it gave me hope as the end drew near. Thank God there is peace.

We need our people. “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” Galatians 6:2

By nature, I’m crazy-independent. It’s actually a trait I got from my dad. But this week, I was comforted and surrounded by community. From prayer, to meals, to friends present at my father’s service, I can’t say enough thank yous to express how humbled and loved I feel.

I love my job. Over the last week, I’ve had the flexibility to stop working and be available. My agent has been an amazing support, encouraging me to be with my father rather than pushing me to produce. I couldn’t be more grateful for the career God has allowed me to be a part of.

No emotion, experience, or disappointment is wasted on a writer. We have the opportunity to turn our sorrows into stories that will, hopefully, speak to the heart of the reader. As I work through grief, I find myself holding onto this thought. Maybe, at some point in the future, this pain will be redeemed by comforting someone else in the midst of their own sadness.

So, for wherever you are today, I pray that you will be blessed in this moment.

 

Becoming a Skillful Sailor

“Smooth seas don’t make skilled sailors.” African Proverb. I read that on the side of my frozen yogurt cup the other night. And isn’t it true? In this writing world, I have learned this lesson more than anything else. As I often say, if nothing else comes out of my writing journey, my children will have witnessed perseverance. They will know what it is to dream big, work hard, stay faithful, and surrender to God’s will. For whatever the outcome, whatever the purpose of our successes and failures, God always works for good.

“We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. But we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us because God has poured out his love into our hearts.” Romans 5:2-5.

Goodness, how I cling to those verses when the losses are coming hard and fast, but also to the revelation I had last week. I think it just occurred to me because I had to watch two of my children struggle with losses. It’s so much easier to watch them win, but—Losing is necessary for learning perseverance.

Maybe if we look at it that way, we can see that it is never really a loss. Trials are for learning lessons, honing our skills, gaining strength, and always becoming more patient because it might not be the right time. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that perseverance and patience both start with ‘P.’

We all have to navigate rough waters to learn the skills will need for success. When I look at past perceived trials and losses, it always amazes me to see how God was working for something better. His ways are not of this world. Can I get an amen?

What loss or trial left you stronger, in a better place, with a new and improved relationship? What blessings have you gained from persevering through loss?

Anything is Possible

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jer. 29:11

Recently, I have spent a lot of time at the high school Libby will attend next year. The excitement is in the air. I get chills walking through the breezeways. These students have their whole lives in front of them–anything is possible. As we get older, we often forget that feeling, burdened by our daily lives.  Sometimes we need a reminder that God wants to prosper us all, no matter how old we are, no matter how far off His path we have roamed.

We have hope when we turn to God for direction. A future following His plan might have interesting twists and turns, but He is always there cheering us on when we need it, providing the right tools, and preparing us to do his work.

This week lets take a moment to look through the eyes of a teenager and see the opportunities God has provided and remember the way He blesses each of our days.

What new adventure are you considering? How are you stepping out in faith?

A Derby Win by Carlton DeVooght

Last spring, I told my husband, Carlton, about a flash fiction writing contest that wanted stories about sports and romance, and he wrote this fun piece about the Kentucky Derby.  Then he endured my brutal edits, and we’re still happily married, but we won’t do that again. This Saturday is Derby Day, so I thought it was the right time to share it. I know you’re going to love it. 

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What a miserable day. As rays from the setting sun, pushed through the clouds, Clint raked his fingers through his wet hair, surveying the damage.

The torrential rain shower had drenched his new seersucker suit, leaving it transparent. His pink shirt shown through the white stripes in his jacket, making it look like someone had sloshed raspberry lemonade on him. Mud from the infield and a variety of spilled drinks had turned his once white Bucks into a Jackson Pollack work. The pathetic lemon bow tie dangled around his neck, warped by the hours of rainfall—Sinatra’s disdain was palpable.

With his shoulders hunched over and arms hanging limp, he began his walk of shame, his damaged sartorial goods were just the start.

Lori Anne had gushed over his invitation to join him at the Derby in his sought-after seats on the final turn. Her lack of depth reared itself when she abandoned him to join some celebrity’s posse in a box on the stretch. All he had left was the stack of plastic mint julep cups, commemorating the 143rd running of the roses—a pitiful trophy.

Under the shadow of the Churchill Downs’ Spires, he attempted to scan the crowd for his group. Instead he experienced a solar eclipse brought on by a gigantic emerald green hat covered in a cacophony of red roses and white feathers. The feathers swatting his nose tore the cap of politeness off, spewing his frustration and spiking his blood pressure.

He batted at the offending plumage. “Do you mind removing that thing, the race is over.”

The head under the hat snapped around. Her fiery eyes scorched everything in their path, searching for the offending party.

He straightened as her eyes bore down on him. His heart beat like the hooves of the racehorses. But he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. The millinery framed long red curls and alabaster skin—an enchanting fury.

She arched an aristocratic brow. “See-through seersucker suit and an ugly bowtie don’t make you in charge of Derby fashion.”

Ouch. Harsh honesty that he deserved, but it still stung.

Dropping her gaze to his feet, she grimaced. “And what color Bucks are those?” She was leading down the stretch, giving a final glower to push her over the finish line. “Certainly not white.” She smirked, daring him to respond.

But that’d be a mistake driven by impulse. Instead he’d do the gentlemanly thing and admit defeat. He tugged on his labels, rocking back on his heels. “Forgive me ma’am. It’s been a long day, and I’ve lost a lot more than the original color of these shoes.”

She tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips. Through narrowed eyes, she studied him. His mea culpa had either touched a suppressed nerve of empathy or simply confused her.

“Humility is not something I often find in Kentucky men.” Was that a hint of pity in her jade eyes? At this point, he’d take it.

She smiled sweetly. “Your stab at dapper may have failed, but there appears to be something attractive underneath those fancy clothes.”

Sighing, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Did your horse lose too?”

“Apparently, my horse didn’t like the mud.” He showed her his losing ticket from the betting window.

She tapped the ticket. “That’s ’cause you bet on the seventeen horse, and no horse has ever won from that slot. If you don’t have a horse running, best odds are on five or ten.” She tilted her head, blocking the sun with her green headgear of sinamay and feathers. “Or you could pick the horse wearing the prettiest silks like I did.” She winked—a font of Derby knowledge.

He shrugged. “Wish I’d talked to you three hours ago.”

She tossed him a smile.

Heat surged over his face. His impulse moves were winless so far, but why not try another. He wiped his hand on his soaked trousers and extended it. “Name’s Clinton Tanner, but please call me Clint.”

Despite his damp hand, she clasped it, firm and steady. “Mary-Brighton.” This was not a normal filly. She was special, and not afraid to race with the colts.

“Don’t suppose you’d like to get out of here and have a drink with me.” He tried his lopsided grin.

She nodded towards his trophy. “As long as it doesn’t include bourbon.” She hooked her hand around his arm.

A winning day after all and his odds were looking better for post time at the Preakness.

 

Weight of Waiting by Hope Welborn

My friend Hope Welborn often says, “I’m not interested unless there’s a dead body.”  And that’s okay since she writes Romantic Suspense stories. I am so happy to have Hope guest blogging for me this week. We met at my first writer’s conference when I sat with her at the regional breakfast. She was also from Georgia and so sweet to a newbie like me.  At this national conference, Hope was a big deal because she was a finalist for the unpublished author’s contest. I became an adoring fan right away. Never did I think we would end up being friends and in a critique group together. Last year, when I was a semi-finalist in the same contest, she contacted me with words of congratulations, and then we realized we had a mutual friend, Lindsey Brackett. Soon we were forming our own writers’ group. Hope’s words are inspiring and beautiful, and I know you will be blessed by them.

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I’ve been reading in Genesis during my quiet time before bed. I enjoy reading about the process of creation. It speaks to me as a writer. God had an idea, He followed through on that idea, and something was created.

Now for Him, the process was as simple as speaking the words, “Let there be…” and the Bible says, “And there was…”

For us, the process is not as simple. I often get frustrated with my own plodding progress. I feel pressures to write quickly, to get something to my agent so he can then send it off to publishers in the hopes of getting a contract.

But even if I could write faster, even if I had a finished product in a matter of weeks, all of that “hurry up” would be met with the inevitable … “and wait.”

I have a wonderful tribe of writers around me, all in various stages of their journeys. And all in various stages of waiting.

Some wait to hear back from an agent, an editor, or a publishing house. Some wait for feedback, critiques, or edits. Some wait until their book is printed and lands in their hands, a finished work. Some wait for their next great idea or inspiration to finish another book.

We all wait.

And in the waiting, we wonder.

Am I good enough? Will this book sell? Is this the right path to take? Am I just wasting my time? Why is this all so difficult?

There’s nothing we can do to change any of this. It is simply the process. The publishing “machine” moves very slowly, and we have to learn to wait patiently. We might start out in different places on the conveyer belt of publishing, but we’re all still on the same assembly line.

We are all card-carrying members of Team Wait. There are no shortcuts or by-passes. Each step along the way is a “right of passage” we must all go through. It may seem unreasonable, but there is a purpose behind it all.

I recently read the following quote:

“Often we fail to give God an opportunity to work, not realizing that it takes time for Him to answer prayer. It takes time for God to color a rose or to grow a great oak tree.” (from Streams in the Desert)

My mind lingered on those words.

I thought back to Genesis, when God created the universe. In just six days, He designed and formed everything that makes up our world.

But, He also created the process of growth.

He decided how long it would take for a tiny acorn to grow into an oak tree large enough to provide shade on a warm day. Sure, He could’ve made it so that acorn would form a new, fully grown tree by the next day. But, He didn’t.

In His infinite wisdom, He knew the tree needed time to grow.

Important things happen during the growth period. Roots reach deep into the earth and anchor the tree. The trunk grows, expands, reaching wide and high. It sprouts limbs and branches that give birth to leaves that absorb sunlight and rain to nourish the tree and allow for more growth.

And when the winds come, the tree stays anchored because of its deep roots. The strong trunk holds up, the branches sway and bend with the weather, withstanding the storms.

Because God knows what the tree will have to endure, He designed a growth period which gives the tree time to become what it needs to survive.

I see the same process in our writing journeys. We need time to grow as writers. To learn the craft. To find our voice. To develop our ideas. To understand the industry. To gain an audience.

These are all things we need. Things that will hold us upright when it gets difficult.

When we get our first rejection. And our twentieth. When we get our first contract, and then our first deadline. When we get a five-star review and a one-star review. When we win. When we lose.

Waiting carries weight. It’s a heavy burden to bear sometimes. But important things happen in the waiting. Growth is necessary, and growth takes time.

So, give yourself the time you need to become what God has purposed for you to be. Waiting isn’t easy, but if you use that time wisely, it won’t be time wasted.


Hope Welborn writes spine-tingling suspense, sprinkled with romance, and saturated with faith. She nerds out over superheroes, survives on chai lattes, and spends time at her family’s North Georgia farm. By day, she masquerades as a web marketing projects manager and by night, she stays up too late putting words on the page. You can connect with her at www.hopewelborn.com or on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

the brink – a poem

At the brink of day, come with me
    to the edge of the sea.
Warm sand engulfs your toes
    as a salty breeze sifts your hair.
A chill wraps around your ankles
    as the waters cover the beach.
Shivering.
But your gaze follows the beam of light dancing east.
Drawn by the energy rising higher,
    dissolving the dark.
And yet, the ocean goes on
    into forever.
How far?
How vast?
How deep?
Reminding us of its creator.
Our limitless, infinite God.
No boundaries hold Him…
Not time.
Not logic.
Not physics.
And not my limited expectations.
But He who set the tides
    on His time.
I am but a speck, a grain of sand,
    unable to see past the horizon.
But what wonders He can do with even me…
    or you.
For beyond our vision, is our great God.
So we live boldly,
Knowing faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

 

Flash Fiction: Love is a Battlefield

This month’s flash fiction story tells the story of my characters’ past. It was fun for me to explore the history that set them on the path that would lead to the story in my book, Love is Elementary. I hope you enjoy it, and next month, we’ll be headed to the Kentucky Derby–fancy hats and mint juleps.

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Cissy’s eyes drifted up from the dull words of her reading assignment—Killer Angels. No hope for a romantic thread on the battlefield at Gettysburg. She dug her toes under the warm sand. Her surreptitious gaze expertly hidden behind the oversized sunglasses.

As Parker strolled up the beach, he brushed his blond bangs away from his tanned face, revealing his easy smile and eyes the same color as the June sky. Droplets of seawater trailed over his toned chest. High school boys posed no competition.

Cissy’s heart pounded like the marching drum leading General Lee’s army. But she forced her eyes back to the page. At this rate, it would take her all of summer vacation to read about a three-day battle. And if Paisley caught her ogling her brother, she’d never let Cissy hear the end of it. But she glanced back.

Two little girls giggled and nodded as Parker knelt near their beach toys. Together they dug sand, filling a yellow sand castle mold. Parker flipped it over, creating a tower. The girls applauded as Parker stood. So sweet. Too bad she turned down that babysitting job.

“Cissy … Cissy.” Paisley nudged her knee.

“What?” Cissy turned her head, giving her full attention to her friends.

Blair rolled onto her side, striking a pose she’d problem seen in a swimsuit ad.

Paisley adjusted her floppy sunhat. “Good grief. You must really be into that book. Parker loves Civil War History too. Click here to read the rest of the story.

Be Still – Guest Post by Lara Patangan

Happy Holy Week, dear friends. I just got home from our church’s morning service, and I can’t think of a better time to read this important message by my friend Lara Patangan. I hope you take time this week to be still and remember the love, grace, and miraculous gift that Resurrection Sunday is for each of us. 

Be Still.

I heard this often as a child.  I remember one time my mom promising me a new doll if I would just sit still for ten minutes.  When you are a kid, ten minutes is an impossibility, a lifetime, a duration that exists in fairytales along with happily ever after.”

Stillness remains a challenge for me.  By far, the hardest part of writing is getting myself to sit down.  I reheat my coffee, let the dog out, tell the cat she is pretty, stuff my face with white cheddar popcorn, nibble chocolate, check email, Facebook, scoop kitty litter, and reheat curdled coffee again.  Then, I sit, twitch, and fidget for a bit before I succumb to the stillness that begets words. It’s like an exorcism.

“Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

I am part of a group of women at my church who will be hosting a retreat this month, and we chose this as our theme.  It’s not a message we hear often, and it is certainly counter to what society encourages. Stillness is a renegade concept, a weapon that destroys the inauthentic notions of life.  I associate it more with someone like Yoda in a galaxy far, far away than I do anyone on our planet.

Our world teaches us our value is tied to busyness.  Do more, go faster, be efficient, be more, make more, and have more.  But for heaven’s sake, don’t be still.  Don’t stop and smell the roses.  Get them in the ground and check it off your list. Or better yet, pay someone to do it.  Your time is too valuable.  You need to be producing.

The message is clear, if you are still, the world will pass you by.  You will be considered slovenly.   You will miss out.  You will fail to measure up. You might as well be a concrete statue for pigeons to stoop (and poop) on.

When we believe these messages, eventually our motion spins out of control.  We lose touch with who we are called to be, the things we enjoy, and who matters most. We get lost and dizzy from all our spinning.  And tired.  So many of us are tired.

Last year for Lent, I challenged myself to spend ten minutes a day in stillness with God.  I was terrified.  I take my faith seriously enough that I didn’t want to commit to such an endeavor and not honor it.  Usually, the things we need most are the hardest to do, the least appealing, and met by the most resistance.  But I decided to be brave and embrace the stillness that always eluded me.

And you know what?  I didn’t turn green like Yoda or get soiled by pigeons.  I didn’t even feel like demons were being dispelled from my body like I do when I sit to write.  I didn’t miss a single day of my commitment.

Contrary to what we may think about motion, the real action begins with stillness.  I was more calm, aware of myself, closer to God, and felt a genuine sense of peace.  I was so much more intentional.

I continued my habit for awhile after Lent and then slowly traded the stillness for the unregulated motion that’s so much easier to fall into.  Like a child, I resist.  But I know that stillness waits for me, wants for me, and will embrace me anytime I am willing to surrender to its calm.

And the reward for stillness is far greater than a new toy.  It is a chance to sit with the knowing that is God.

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Lara Patangan
MercyMatters.net

Lara Patangan is a freelance writer and mother of two boys in Jacksonville, Florida.  She is a cat-lover and a catastrophic cook.  She blogs at Mercy me! I’ve Got Work To Do…  where she writes about her spiritual travels.  She is currently working on publishing her first book about her experiences doing works of mercy.  Please visit mercymatters.net to join this community that believes in the power of mercy to change the world.