by Donna Poole
It was a monumental moment. At exactly 8:42 a.m. on May 28, 2020, I touched the keys on my laptop and typed the words, “Corners Church Jr.”
“I’ve started the sequel to my book,” I told Kimmee. “I thought Corners Church was a standalone novel, but I woke up in the night with a sequel in mind.”
“That’s great! But you aren’t really going to title it Corners Church Jr. are you?”
No, I wasn’t, but since the book baby hadn’t announced its own name yet, I’d give it that one until it did.
Writing a book is like wandering down back country roads; you probably aren’t going to end up where you expected, and the views will surprise you. I had a destination in mind when I began writing, but my book wandered off on a journey of its own telling. After many revisions, my new book begins like this:
Chapter One
All Who Wander
What am I doing here? It wasn’t the first time he’d asked himself that. Pastor J. D. looked around the long table and sighed. Another board meeting for the books; he’d give this one the same grade he’d given the others, a C for effort.
And C for Cyrus. The minute I open my mouth that man’s ready to holler no. He hasn’t liked me since day one, and I’m not his biggest fan either.
Day one. That had been a year ago. Sometimes it felt like a decade.
J.D. had been lost in more ways than one when he’d stumbled on Corners Church. After losing both Abby and his position as lead pastor at Riverside Tabernacle and Seminary in Chicago, J.D. had fled like a wounded animal to an Airbnb cabin in Barryton, Michigan. He’d purposely looked for an off the beaten path place where he could be alone. He’d planned to stay at the Airbnb only a month but had ended up staying a year. “Not all who wander are lost.” J.D. had thought about that saying often during his year at the cabin. He’d wandered a lot trying to regain some peace.
***
New characters found their way into my book, including Cass, one of the four adorable rescue cats who belongs to Kimmee and Drew and lives with us. The book wouldn’t be the same without Cass, and neither would its author.
Today, September 28, 2020, at 12:30 p.m., four months after I started typing, and 60,320 words later, I finished my third edit of my book. Thank you, Lord, I thought. Next, I need to find a cover and send it off to my real editor.
I’m more apprehensive about this second book child than I was about the first. Like all children born into a family, it’s quite different from its sibling; you might not even recognize they are related. We took an unexpected journey, my book and I. A few days after I started it, I found out I had cancer. I’ve written the whole thing sitting in bed, between tests, doctor’s appointments, and chemotherapy treatments.
Many days I couldn’t write at all. It was too much effort to concentrate or focus. On semi-good days, a strange thing happened. When I couldn’t force my thoughts into line to read a book or watch a movie, I could still write a book. Often, when my brain and voice were too weak to carry on a decent phone conversation, my fingers still flew over the keyboard, living life with the new characters at the Corners.
So, I’m a bit apprehensive about this book. But I’m exhilarated too. I prayed my way through the writing, and if it’s incoherent, my editor will tell me. If it’s decent, I may present you my new baby before Christmas, though I’m not promising. This book journey is far from complete. Let’s just say you’ll see it sometime soon, Lord willing and if the creek doesn’t rise, or, as a main character in the book insists on saying, “Lord willin’ and if the creek don’t rise.”
And that brings me to the book’s title. It’s either, If the Creek Doesn’t Rise, so as not to offend the sensibilities of the grammar Nazis and perhaps keep them from buying the book, or, it’s If the Creek Don’t Rise, in honor of Cyrus who says it that way.
Which title do you like? I’d love your thoughts.
