Empty Nest, Full Heart

I was just sixteen years old when I left my parents' home to marry a boy the next town over. I'm quite certain some people assumed it was because I "had to" get married. But I wasn't pregnant, I was merely foolish. And stubborn. Really, really stubborn. I actually believed that by moving away, I'd show my mom and dad just how much they'd miss their petulant, free-spirited daughter. Ha!

Looking back, I can only imagine the private happy dance they shared when I was out of their hair. Sure they'd miss me. They loved me. But man did I make their life difficult. I skipped school. I smoked pot. I went to parties. I played hooky from church. I pretty much did the opposite of everything they demanded of me. Not because I didn't love them--I did--but because I thought I knew better than them.

My emancipation came with a price. Suddenly I was in charge of me. I had to figure out how to pay bills which meant getting a job while also finishing high school. I learned how to balance a checkbook, shop for the best deals on groceries, cook meals and run a household. I even learned to change my own oil and spark plugs. At first it was fun, this perpetual date with my high school sweetheart and being addressed as "Mrs." by my teachers. Then one year later I did end up pregnant and gave birth just weeks before my high school graduation. Suddenly it was no longer just me playing house; I was now responsible for another life. 

In THIS I KNOW my young protagonist's mother suffers from postpartum depression. There's a very intimate scene between mother and daughter, when Grace sees her mama for the first time as Isabelle Carter the woman with hopes and dreams instead of the person who sews her dresses, cooks her meals and combs the tangles out of her hair. 

Mama stands and walks across the porch to look out over the meadow. She’s barefoot and wearing a sleeveless sundress with tiny yellow flowers on it that I’ve never seen before. It doesn’t have any pockets. All of Mama’s clothes have pockets. Most of the time they’re full. She turns around and leans back against the railing. Mama looks radiant in spite of the topic of our conversation. I can’t remember seeing her this happy. Ever. Which worries me.

I chose to symbolize the 1960s mother archetype as the family custodian, cleaning behind and picking up after her husband and five children. In this particular scene, Mama escapes reality by envisioning her dream house with a porch swing that overlooks a flowered meadow. She liberates herself from her expected role by wearing a sundress without any pockets. The dress says I'm free and unburdened. Of course, this scares the daylights out of Grace, who tries to convince her mother that she is loved, but what she's really saying is that she's needed.

I remember very clearly the day my youngest son left for college. I cried all the way home. I'd finally gotten that longed-for emancipation and it sucked. Although I cherish my idyllic, child-free adult life, I still miss being needed to tie a shoe, to kiss a hurt, or to comfort a heartbroken teen. My pockets might be empty of broken crayons and baby spoons, but my heart is so full of the memory of each of their young faces as they toddled toward me, arms outstretched, brimming with unbridled trust. 

Parents: What about you? Are you dreading or looking forward to a life without dependents? If your nest is currently empty, are you enjoying your more care-free life? Would you let your adult children move back home to save money on living expenses? 

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THIS I KNOW by Eldonna Edwards is available at your favorite Independent and Online Bookstores:

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What's in A Name? (Why Choosing Character Names isn't As Easy As You Think)

One of my favorite parts of writing is choosing character names. It's also one of the most challenging. Just when I think I've settled on the perfect name I discover (usually through polling friends or from beta readers) that the chosen name doesn't work for them, usually because they have a history with it.

Take for example the name Linda. One of my favorite people in the world is named Linda. However at least three of my long-term relationships have been with men who've longingly recounted the torrid, sometimes-unrequited love affair with their Linda. One of my lovers had two special Lindas. All the Lindas in these stories are drop-dead gorgeous, highly intelligent, sexy, hilarious women who've left an indelible mark on these men's version of the ideal women. There's no way I'd not unpack my Linda baggage if I chose it for a character. 

In THIS I KNOW, claiming to be inspired by God, Reverend Carter "divines" names for his newborn children. 

"Mama told us that after each baby was born Daddy held his fat black Bible over our tiny bodies and the Lord bestowed upon him a name for his children. To tell you the truth, I don’t think Daddy was listening very well. Or maybe God changed His plans, because none of us fit our given names except for maybe Hope, who is the oldest."

I loved choosing the names that Daddy gives his daughters. I knew I wanted him to screw up because it was important to underscore the ego hidden within the act of projecting personalities upon his progeny. Ironically, as a writer, I am the all-

powerful name god and I got to name the reverend. I sometimes imagined him standing behind me as I wrote. Henry? Really? Pretty sure I'd be a James or a John, good strong names. (Insert author's maniacal laugh.)

In my next book (CLOVER BLUE/June 2019) the characters live in a spiritual commune in 1970s Northern California. Each member chooses a new name for themselves when they join--except for the children, who are named by the guru. The "Olders" pick names like Coyote, Jade, Wave, Willow, Sirona, Gaia, Lotus and Doobie. The children, referred to as "Youngers" are named Harmony, Moon, Aura, Rain and, of course, Clover Blue. You can probably imagine how fun it was to name them, right? Yes, but you wouldn't believe the list of outrageous, often horribly ridiculous hippie-dippy names I waded through before settling on this ragtag cast of characters who live in the woods without plumbing or electricity.

I feel fortunate to have been gifted with a unique name by my mother. Her name was VaLoyce, an uncommon name that rolls off the tongue and sounds exotic. I like to think my mom chose "Eldonna" for me because she believed I was the child who would fully embody such a powerful name. She once told me that she went to high school with an Eldonna and always liked the name, but I call bullshit on that. I think by the time she gave birth to her fifth daughter she ran out of girl names. She probably figured I'd adopt the shortened "Donna" but I never took to it outside our home. I was always Eldonna at school and in the workplace. I also rejected the suggestion from a well-meaning professional to use my nickname Ellie as my author name because "it's more approachable." To my siblings I am Donna. To many of my friends, I'm Ellie. But in my blood and bones, I am Eldonna. Sounds a little melodramatic to say that, but hey, Eldonna is a serious damn name.


What about you? What are your favorite or least-favorite names? Do you like your name? If you could change your name would you? What would you change it to? Have you ever stopped reading a book because you hated the character's name? 

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THIS I KNOW

LOST IN TRANSPLANTATION

How Growing Up Poor Made Me A Minimalist

Call it lack of awareness or naivete, but as a child I had no idea my family was poor. We had food on the table, clothes on our backs and plenty of love to go around so I never felt lacking. It didn't occur to me to question  wearing hand-me-down blouses or homemade dresses that my mother sewed for us. Coming from a large family, I just assumed these to be normal, practical things that most families did.

The fact that I was unaware of our socioeconomic status says more about my upbringing than it says about me. I loved the meals my parents prepared out of leftovers, stretching our Sunday pot roast well into mid-week. I felt lucky to inherit one of my older sisters coveted outfits. And sharing a bed with my younger sibling was much more of a comfort than a burden--save for those times she gouged me with a sharp toenail.

It wasn't until I was much older that I began to understand how challenging it must have been to feed seven children on a rural minister's income. I have faint memories of falling asleep in the back seat of our car when my mom drove thirty miles to pick up my dad from his second-shift job. He worked at a Brunswick factory where he'd sometimes bring home defective bowling pins for us to play with. We loved those wooden pins, painting faces on them and gluing yarn on the top for hair. According to family legend he once brought home bowling shoes for us to wear. I was too young to remember it, but I heard how my older sisters pitched a fit and refused to wear the shoes to school. My dad insisted they were the same as saddle shoes and his ungrateful daughters should be happy to have them. My teen sisters begged to differ and the shoes "went missing" after that.

When drawing the character of Reverend Carter in THIS I KNOW I drew from my own experience of growing up with a man who could squeeze 200 pennies out of a dollar. He accepted gifts of venison from church members and had it ground with pork suet so his kids wouldn't balk at the wild taste. He milked his clergy discount wherever and whenever he could, often embarrassing my mom. And he cut coupons like nobody's business, stuffing his suit pockets, his wallet, and the glove compartment of our Plymouth until the little door wouldn't stay shut.

One of my favorite scenes in THIS I KNOW is when Grace goes grocery shopping with her Daddy:

When our basket is nearly full, Daddy stops in the middle of the aisle and thumbs through his stack of coupons looking for ten cents off Charmin. When he finds it, he pulls three packages off the shelf and dumps them in the cart. He doesn’t squeeze them even a little bit. I glance over the list and draw a line through TP. Daddy never spells it out. Maybe he worries about dropping the list and somebody finding out Pastor Carter wipes his behind just like everybody else. Which is kind of funny since he spends more time in the bathroom than anyone else I know.

You'd think that growing up having less would make me want more as an adult, but the opposite is true. My dad taught me the value of love over needless things. I live in a 400 square foot granny unit. I drive a 16 year-old car. I shop at thrift stores. I recycle or re-purpose whenever possible. I cut my own hair. And I rarely buy anything I don't need. Unless. Unless I have a coupon. Or it's a really, really good deal. In which case I've been known to blow money on restaurants, spas, concerts and bookstores. Yesterday I bought a new story board at Office Max. I'd been using push-pins to tack my scenes onto a wall but they had white boards for half off retail.  I rationalized that the new dry-erase board would make writing the next book easier but the truth is I inherited the thrill of saving a buck from my dad. 

I'm not cheap--I tip well and happily pay for quality products and services. But I still love a good bargain. I subscribe to Bookbub, scour the internet for airfare deals and never pay rack rate for a hotel room. Which is why I want to acknowledge that $26 for a hardcover book is a bit steep for some of our budgets. I'm thrilled to share that my publisher is running a sale on THIS I KNOW for 90% off the cover price. My dad was frugal but he was also generous. If he were alive today I bet he'd buy every one of you a copy.

Home is Where Your Tribe Shows Up

Photo Credit: JackWy Photography

In his posthumous novel by the same title Thomas Wolfe famously proclaimed that you can't go home again because things change. People grow older and more cynical, the town itself expands into something other than how you remember it or contracts into itself due to economic shifts, and leavers are shunned as traitors to family and community. Especially if one of those leavers writes a book reflecting the author's nostalgic image of that community.

I'm here to say that not only can you go home again, it will welcome you with open arms, show up at your book events, stand in line for hugs, and delight in reminding you of a thing you did that you'd forgotten or might wish they'd forgotten. But mostly you will laugh, the kind of laugh that starts deep in the belly and hollows out a secret place where tears are stored. Memories collide; the reality of your mortality a mirror staring back at you in all their beautiful faces. 

Last month I traveled to West Michigan for my Midwestern book launch of THIS I KNOW. My biggest fear was not that folks wouldn't buy my book, but that nobody would show up. People are busy with kids and jobs and aging parents. Driving 30-60 minutes to see an author you knew from church or went to school with might not be a priority when there's a wedding to plan, upcoming graduation or work and family obligations. 

But show up they did. I signed books for those I sat next to in kindergarten in the 1960's, smoked my

first joint with in high school, waited tables together while raising our children, hung out at the beach with every summer, sold real estate for during the 80s, and a critique partner who remembered when THIS I KNOW was just a seed of an idea. There were friends, friends of friends, cousins, nieces and nephews, and people who'd merely heard about me through the grapevine--still the most reliable form of communication in the rural Midwest where decent cell and internet service are as scarce as designer handbags. 

Best of all my five siblings sat grinning from the front row at nearly every event, lined up much like when we scrunched together in that old wooden pew every week as our Dad went into overtime on his vigorous Sunday sermons. On one of those nights we enjoyed a slumber party, scattered around my eldest sister's cottage in our jammies, munching snacks and sharing stories from our current lives but mostly stirring up memories form our shared past.

Thank you to every one of you who attended my events, arranged after-parties, put me up in their home, and drove me where I needed to go. A special gratitude to Barnes & Noble Muskegon, Book Nook & Java Shop in Montague and The Bookman in Grand Haven for hosting me at your lovely bookstores. After one of my readings an employee handed me a Sharpie and asked me to sign their author wall. I only hesitated for a moment before writing, "You can take the girl out of Michigan, but you can't take Michigan out of the girl." Because Thomas Wolfe is wrong. You can go home again. And as we say here, you might should.

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Have you heard? THIS I KNOW is Delilah Book Club Selection from America's most listened-to female radio host! Pop over to her page to read Delilah's review and why she chose to recommend my book to her 8 million listeners!

Wading in The Wings

“Living in the present moment is the recurring baptism of the soul, forever purifying every new day with a new you.” ― Alaric Hutchinson, LIVING PEACE

Of all the days that stand out from my childhood, the times we gathered at Stony Lake for baptism services feel the most visceral. It was a big deal in our little church and nearly all of our small congregation attended. What I remember most clearly is my dad's sun-deprived white feet under rolled-up pant legs as he stood at the water's edge, holding his weathered Bible in one hand while he spoke. It didn't matter that the pages flapped in the summer breeze; he knew those words by heart, as did most of us.

I'm not Southern or Baptist but something deep and holy stuck to my bones from those annual gatherings at the lake. Two of my favorite  scenes in THIS I KNOW are a spirited community baptism that takes place at Cherry Lake and a much more personal one that occurs in a small backyard pond. To this day I much prefer baths to showers. One of the first

things I did when I bought my current home was to drop an antique claw foot bathtub in the yard under the trees. It is my sanctuary. Showers are for rinsing; the bath is more of a prayer, a purification of mind and spirit that transcends mere physical cleansing.

Waiting for my book to come out reminds me of those languid summer days wishing my dad would wrap up his long-winded sermon so I could watch him dunk people in the lake. As I count down the last several days to the long-awaited release date, I'm reminded of the words we used to sing as we gathered in the long shadows of those sandy Lake Michigan dunes. 

When peace like a river, attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It's been two years since I gleefully signed a contract with my publisher for THIS I KNOW, a story about a young girl trying to navigate her kaleidoscopic understanding of Spirit, juxtaposed against her father's black-and-white image of God. My gratitude goes out to every single one of you who has cheered me on. Thank you to the many pre-release readers wrote to tell me how much you loved my little Grace Marie, shared my good news, and talked about my book to others. Today I truly can say that all is indeed well with my soul.

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Please join me for my long-awaited Launch Party on Facebook!

Big Daddy

Photo Credit: Wiki Commons

Remember when you were a kid and adults seemed so big, so powerful, so impossibly in charge of EVERYTHING? They controlled what you ate, when you went to bed and the consequences of any misdeeds. It was frustrating wasn't it? Especially when you were innocent but got blamed because more often than not, you were the mischievous kid at the center of those misdeeds. 

My father was loving but strict. As a preacher, he held a higher position than most of my friends' dads. We might have been on the low end of the economic barometer, but we had righteousness on our side and that allowed us other benefits. Clergy discounts. Chore-free Sundays. Memorized Scripture to back-up and win most arguments. Because really, who wants to take a side against the Almighty?

In writing THIS I KNOW I tried to convey that sense of impotence in children compared to powerful adults, especially parents. In the following scene, Grace nervously waits while her mama explains a situation that could make her either a hero or a villain in her father's eyes:

"Daddy spends a long time in the bedroom with Mama before supper. I picture him sitting on the bed, the way it sinks when he lowers himself onto it. Daddy tends to leave a dent in soft things. Not just because he’s big, but because he means to. Everything about him is heavy, from his voice to the way his foot lands on the floor. Sometimes just in the way he looks at you."

As a child, that's pretty much how I viewed my dad. He was the boss. And he was the pastor. Who was I to challenge him?

And then one day, tragedy struck and for the first time in my life, I saw him crying. Dad's don't cry, I thought. Kids cry. Sometimes mothers. But not your dad. And especially not Pastor Edwards. Until he does. He appeared disheveled that day, like someone who'd slept several nights in their clothes. It was the first time I recognized that he wasn't merely those roles of father and minister, he was a human being who, in that moment, felt helpless and not in control of anyone or anything.

It was a rare moment, but one I never forgot. So in creating the fictional Reverend Carter, I made the character big--much bigger physically than my own dad. I made him insufferably controlling and close-minded. But somewhere deep inside I managed to insert a tiny wedge of vulnerability: a woman that he adores and without whom he feels unlovable. And then I wrenched her from his assured grasp. I'd like to say I did it to expose his true self, letting his house of cards crumble around him so that he's faced with difficult choices. But the truth is, I'm still that same mischievous kid who enjoys stirring up shit when she gets the chance. Fortunately as a writer, I get lots of chances.

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My debut novel, THIS I KNOW, releases April 24 2018. I'd be honored if you added it to your wish-list on Good Reads. You can also pre-order the book on Amazon or from you local bookstore.

In this outstanding debut, Eldonna Edwards has created an enchanting, loveable narrator by the name Grace Carter, who shares all she sees about her world and beyond.  Rendered in a voice at once singular and exquisite and with an old soul sense of wisdom, I was captivated by this story of a girl and her unique gift, her love of family, the pain of loss, the sting of indifference, and the simple joy of acceptance, but most of all by Grace, and her purity of heart. --Donna Everhart, best-selling author of THE EDUCATION OF DIXIE DUPREE and  THE ROAD TO BITTERSWEET.