New Math

The Memory Keeper’s Daughter

I worry sometimes that when I’m dead, no one will remember my brother.

It’s a quiet worry, not one that I’ve ever expressed in words until now. But I guess I’ve carried it in my heart all my life.

Do you feel surprised when you open your containers of Christmas ornaments each year? I’m always shocked at the gasps of joy and stray tears of nostalgia that escape me when I see the treasures my children made for me during their school years. They are my most precious decorations.

But there, among these keepsakes, is one I weep over season after season. It’s a tiny red and ivory knit stocking, no bigger than a baby’s sock, with a printed Santa and the words “Baby’s First Christmas.”

I can’t help how I feel when I hang it on my tree. I can’t help thinking of my parents celebrating Christmas 1951 with their three-month-old firstborn child, unaware that he’d only ever spend three more Christmases on this earth. I can’t help it that I’ve already asked my sweet daughter to become the caretaker for Patrick’s stocking someday.

I’ve already asked my daughter to not forget.

Because, you see, my mother now remembers less about her little boy than I do. I repeat back to her the stories she’s told me about his short life, and she shakes her head. “Did I tell you that, really? It was so long ago, like another lifetime...”

It didn’t used to be like this. In one way, my mother’s whole life has revolved around the loss of this one dear son. But now, so much has faded in focus for her, and so I have become, of my own volition, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter.

I know that Patrick’s name will someday--perhaps with the passage of only one more generation--be little more than a brief line in a family tree. A line with no branches descending beneath it. Someday, perhaps one of my own grandchildren will take up an interest in family history and ask about the little boy without a story.

Will the Baby’s First Christmas stocking hang on a tree somewhere for generations to come? Or will the threads finally disintegrate like a mother’s fragile mind? I think I know the truth, but it’s hard to face it.

There are some things I’ll take with me to the grave, but I can still hope my brother’s memory isn’t one of them.

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/26/08
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Ready To Enter Part Two Of My Agent’s Contest?

I am thrilled that quite a number of fallible readers entered my literary agent’s fun contest this past week! If you’d like to read the top six “first lines” Rachelle chose from 301 entries, hop over to her site.

Now, you have a second opportunity to get a piece of your writing in front of an agent. Just choose one of the six first lines and write the next 300 words. The rules of the contest are on Rachelle’s site, with the deadline and prize information, so jump on over there.

I sure would love to see one of you fallible ones walk away with the big prize!

By the way, I’ve used the words hop, walk, and jump, probably because I’m excited that my line came in third place. And it’s about shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. All of them dropping. :)

Have fun, you contest-happy people, you!

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/26/08
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Back When I Was Your Age--A Rant

Dang. That title is one I didn’t think I’d ever write in this lifetime. And yet, there it is. And with good reason, I might add. For today I’d like to talk about how homes used to be purchased back in the old days.

For the sake of this illustration, the old days will include any days up to and including November of 1994, when we moved into the third house we’ve owned during our marriage.

You may not remember this, or even realize that this is the way the world used to operate, but not very long ago, a prospective homeowner had no choice but to cough up a 20% down payment for a house. Right about now, you may be thinking that coming up with that kind of cash is easy, what with loans from parents and cash advances on credit cards. But here’s the rub: the hopeful buyers had to PROVE that the money they were putting down actually belonged to THEM by providing bank records and paycheck stubs and tax forms and all kinds of other evidence.

No bank on earth allowed you to fall in love with a $40,000 house (as we did in 1979) and then borrow $8000 from dear old Mom and Dad as your very first act of long-term indebtedness. If your bank statements showed a recent and unexplained (read: unearned) infusion of $$$$$, you were of all unsavory characters most to be suspected.

To top it off, in 1979 the prevailing interest rate on home mortgages had risen to something like 12%, and would keep rising over the next couple of years to more than 15%. Now, if you were a saver back then--and there were actually people still committed to saving 10% of their income as a matter of course--you could really pile up some cash with interest rates like that. But if you just wanted to move from a too-small apartment into a starter home, it was going to cost you.

We got in on a great deal, though. We were able to “assume” the loan of a veteran, paying a down payment ($8000) and then taking over his payments for the remaining 28 years of his loan. We locked in his interest rate, which was 8%, plus we did not have to qualify income-wise like we would have with a regular loan. At the time, I was due to give birth to Scotty. Doug was making $600 per month and our house payment was a shocking $300.

Looking back, this was something of a risky move for us. We COULD NOT have a car payment and survive. (Heck, we could barely have a car and survive!) We did not have a credit card between us, so no temptation there. And yet, the risk we took on was NOTHING compared to the sub-prime mess being bought into hook, line, and sinker by lenders and borrowers alike in the current shake-down. Because the fact that we put 20% down provided us with protection against the potential of falling housing prices. If we got desperate, we could always sell the house and get our cash out.

I can’t tell you the last time I heard of a borrower putting down 20% on a house. It used to be that if you did not have 20%, you were “renters.” There was no shame associated with renting, but there was a huge responsibility associated with purchasing.

Another thing that only people on the margins would consider back then was taking out a “second mortgage.” I distinctly remember an episode of All In The Family in the early 70s, in which Archie Bunker (unbeknownst to his long-suffering wife, Edith) took a second mortgage against their home to finance his purchase of the neighborhood pub. My father nearly died when we watched that show together, since he and my mother had just finished paying off a 20-year mortgage in 11 years.

“Never, ever take out a second mortgage,” Dad said. “Not even to do home improvements. You could lose your house!”

These days? Home equity lines of credit are how people fund their vacations, pay for their children’s educations, finance weddings, and buy stocks which are all but guaranteed to go higher. And why not?? EVERYONE KNOWS that home values only go one direction--up! Why not use some (or all) of that equity to provide yourself and your loved ones with all the advantages a line of credit against your one-and-only home can provide?

OK, so technically it might not BE your one-and-only home. You MIGHT have taken the equity out of your primary residence to put minuscule down payments on any number of rental homes, because that’s the American way, right?

It might be the American way, but it’s really, really not smart. Really. Trust me on this.

Now that I’m my age, I look around and see nothing but fall-out from the terrible lending practices that have resulted in consumers with nutty entitlement mentalities overextending themselves with little to no margin on which to fall back.

Doug and I own a lovely home which we built 13 years ago. At the time, we not only put down the required 20%, but we also borrowed scores of thousands of dollars less than the bank begged to lend us. We did not WANT to borrow the maximum allowed by law, because if something--anything--went wrong, our home would be at risk.

Now, our home’s value is being undermined by the foreclosures of a number of houses in our area. Evidently, even in the high-end neighborhood adjoining ours, borrowers were allowed to put almost no money down and to take out jumbo loans with terms that could only be described as “easy credit.” Then when they lost their jobs at Sprint or wherever, or their adjustable mortgages, umm, adjusted, they could no longer make the payments on their McMansions.

Two houses near us, recently valued at 1.5 million each, sold for paltry sums like $850,000. What if you, a responsible borrower with a significant amount of home equity you hoped not to lose, wanted to sell your own home--but lived next door to one selling for half the price you should have been able to get?

Of course, disasters like health crises happen which sometimes force homeowners into foreclosure. But the articles I’ve read about this situation indicate these homeowners borrowed WAY more than they could afford, at terms which were ridiculously liberal to the extreme. Unless the housing market had gone STRAIGHT UP, they were doomed from the beginning to lose their shirts.

I don’t know if I feel sorry for them or not, but I REALLY feel sorry for those who are trying to behave in a fiscally responsible manner and still get caught in the crossfire, with their properties losing value hand-over-fist.

What about you?? Any housing market stories you’d care to share?

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/24/08
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Holy Weak

When my mother was in the hospital, she almost died from like a dozen different things, all feeding off each other. It was a systems-wide failure, and quite hard to keep up with. Just when we imagined that it would be respiratory failure that got her, her blood sugar shot up to 500 and stayed there. Then, when we figured the old heart rate of 165 didn’t bode well for her future on earth, her blood pressure would plummet to nearly nothing.

And if she wanted to speak a few words, we’d have to move the oxygen mask from her face, which would make her 02 stats tumble toward the dark side within seconds. It wasn’t pretty.

Now she’s in a nursing home, to receive some much-needed (but, I’m afraid, not terribly beneficial) therapy. I hoped she’d gain better transferring skills (since she has fallen twice already this year trying to get on or off her couch) and some more hygienic bathroom skills (since she now gets back-to-back urinary tract infections and has a hard time negotiating Depends with her broken arm).

They say that by this time next week, she’ll probably have gone as far with therapy as she’s going to go. This is code for “Medicare will only pay for the days on which she is making progress in therapy. If we cannot document that she is progressing, she’s on her own dime....” So, she will either be moving back to her assisted living facility or becoming a permanent resident of a nursing home.

Last night, just to complicate matters, she had her fifth or sixth episode of extremely low blood sugar. Right before dinner time, when the nurse came in to check her blood sugars, she was found in a pond of her own sweat, having drenched her clothing and all the bedding right down to the plastic mattress. Her blood sugar reading was 25!!!!

Literature reveals that a coma can occur at 30, seizures at 20, and irreversible brain damage at 10, but all these numbers are variable depending on the patient, her other medical conditions, and many other factors. In this case, she was able to swallow a serving of Ensure and recovered.

I spent much of the day on the phone with doctors and in the office of the social worker. I explained to the nursing home doctor that her current insulin regimen was initiated by the endocrinologist at the hospital, largely in reaction to the readings of 500. But that Mom’s family doctor had her sugars on a consistently-too-high-but-very-stable track for the past two years. I told the facility doc that I want her regimen returned to what it was before her hospitalization, because her bones are so horrible and she is such a huge fall risk.

And of course because one more episode like last night’s might be the last. I know everyone has to die of something, but THAT seems like a dumb thing if it can be prevented.

One day, I’ll write a lovely, heart-wrenching essay about this whole experience, but today is not that day. Sometimes, I’m just tired.

Please pray for my mom, that her heart will find peace with Jesus. That she’ll surrender her life to the kindness of His love.

I am grateful, in all of this, that God never tires of hearing our voices, of answering our cries. That His faithfulness is constant and His mercy ever new.

I’m depending on Him.

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/19/08
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A Not-To-Be-Missed Opportunity!

My agent, Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary, has come up with a great contest over on her site. For any of you who have literary aspirations, don’t miss it! It is a great chance to get your ideas and a sample of your writing in front of an agent who is still open to new clients.

Read those rules carefully, and good luck with your submissions!

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/18/08
(3) Fallible Comments • Permalink

So After You Sign With An Agent, Then What?

Several people have emailed me (or written a message on my facebook wall) asking “Now that you’ve got an agent, when is your book coming out?” It’s such a typical question, I thought I’d address it here at fallible. After all, I know quite a number of you are writers and hope to be published one day. Why not make the waters a little less muddy?

Another comment came from one of my sisters, and I think it might be a common observation, as well. “I really don’t know what it means to have an agent.” It was hard for her to get very excited for me, because it seemed of very little consequence.

She may imagine it’s kind of like acquiring a real estate agent to sell your house. Typically, if you put a For Sale By Owner sign in your yard, you will be inundated with calls from agents wanting to list your house. As you are probably aware, it’s rarely the “listing agent” who actually ends up selling your house. The listing agent will be only one of several people who will split the commission when your house finally sells.

Getting a literary agent isn’t quite that easy, but it’s becoming ever more important to those who want to sell their manuscripts. Even a few years ago, many more publishing houses were open to looking at the work of unagented authors than are willing to now. It’s getting so the only way to get your manuscript in front of an acquiring editor is to meet with him in person at a writers conference, garnering his permission to forward your work at a later date.

But unless you are made of money and can attend many conferences per year, there are only so many editors you can realistically hope to chat up on your own. (During a typical three-day conference, an attendee gets to sign up for fifteen-minute meetings with one editor and one agent. Other contacts occur at meals, wandering the halls, in the elevator, but NOT in the bathroom! At least, SOMETHING is sacred!)

Many agents, however, will look at the work of unpublished authors, although even then they prefer it if you’ve met with them at a conference or if you come recommended to them by an author they know and trust.

The statistics I’ve read on the subject seem to indicate that agents, on average, end up representing 1% of all the submissions they see. So, yes, even signing with an agent is something of a long shot. But once you’ve signed, your chances of ultimately getting published increase dramatically. All of a sudden, publishers are willing to at least take a peek at your book, which is being presented to them by an agent who studies the markets for a living and knows what the different publishers are looking for at any given time.

Still, even with a great agent in your corner, there are no guarantees your book will find a home. My understanding from what I’ve read is that agents tend to sell approximately 50% of the books they attempt to place.

The way I look at it, that’s fantastic. Especially since, without an agent in my corner, I understood my chances of making a sale to be only 1%.

So, the answer to the big question of when my book will be published is “I have no idea...” I hope that’s not ALWAYS the answer, but while I’m waiting to see what happens with the book my agent now has in her hands, I will be writing the next one.

‘Cause THAT’S what happens when you sign with an agent!

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/15/08
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Kathryn Harris, Come On Down!!

Hey, Kathryn! You have won a free copy of Michael Snyder’s fun novel, My Name Is Russell Fink. Congratulations! Email me with your postal address, and I’ll ship your prize to you.

Thanks to everyone who commented, and a special thanks again to Mike. What a great sport, and an awesome author!

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/15/08
(1) Fallible Comments • Permalink

Michael Snyder Is WAY More Than Michael Number Five Of The Michaels Who Comment Here!

I’m betting a few of you know about debut fiction author Michael Snyder and his wonderful novel, My Name Is Russell Fink.

Let me say, first of all, that when I met Mike at an American Christian Fiction Writers Conference in Nashville a couple of years ago, I was instantly smitten. Not in a weird-crush kind of way, but in an excited-to-see-what’s-gonna-happen-with-him kind of way. Mike has one of my all-time favorite personalities: a well-proportioned mix of LOL funny, self-deprecating, humble, and audacious. He says and writes stuff no one else could get away with, and does it with aplomb.

And maybe even a plum, I don’t know. Of all the things we discussed, we managed not to get into fruits.

There’s something else you should know, too. I asked Mike about a month ago if he would like to appear here on fallible, after his book hit the market and I’d had a chance to read it. He agreed. By then, I’d gotten an agent, and had a March 1 deadline by which I needed to have my finished manuscipt in her hands.

“I won’t even be able to read Russell Fink until after my deadline,” I said, hoping that wasn’t too late for him in terms of getting the good word out about his book on a timely basis.

“That’s great,” he said. “Anytime will be fine.”

Then, as you know, my mother became critically ill, which meant I needed a bit longer to finish my work. So Michael waited, but as it turns out, he had a terrible turn of events happening in his life, too. On February 16, his 47-year old brother died completely unexpectedly. I did not know this until Mike and I reconnected this morning.

Some of my interview questions actually refer to the death-of-a-sibling thread that runs through his novel, since I have also had a brother die and have been deeply affected by it my whole life long. As you read our interview, please know that I asked the questions without knowing about Mike’s brother, and he answered them with grace, compassion, and his trademark wit.

Katy: I am not a fan of discussion questions in the backs of novels. Reading them only makes me want to discuss how awful they are. But your discussion questions ALONE are worth the price of the book. Here is your own Discussion Question Number Two. Please answer it for us: “If someone told you to quit your current job to do something you really love (like Dr. K. advises Russell in your book), would you do it? What if the thing you really love to do is to scam people in the name of God?”

Mike: I guess one could argue that my job as a novelist for a Christian publisher really is to scam people in the name of God, right? I mean, I’m trying to get people to believe a made-up story.

Katy: Just so you know, I totally believed it. But I’m easy that way....

Mike: As hokey as it sounds, my ideal job would involve helping people, encouraging people, and writing. So really, between my day job as a manufacturer’s rep and my other job as a novelist, I get to scratch all those itches with some regularity. I do try to avoid scratching in public though.

Katy: I’ll go ahead and admit that I don’t know what kind of products you sell. But I do know this: in Russell Fink, you helped and encouraged me through your writing alone. Seriously, the whole time I was laughing, I was applying the story’s truths to my own life and heart. So if you were only selling books, I’d be a happy customer.

Mike: To actually answer the question however, I’m mostly content—or at least as content as we humans can be on this side of eternity. I’m an unrelenting realist, so it’s hard to imagine that the vocational grass is greener anywhere else. Although I did read a story just today about this company that sells these very cool handmade shoes, then uses one hundred percent of the profits to pay for heart surgeries for kids in Iraq. That’s a pretty darn good example of missional living.

Katy: Speaking of a man on a mission, Russell Fink seems to be on a mission of perpetuating his funky case of survivor’s guilt. He is a fully adult man who believes he “gave” his twin sister cancer when they were kids. I share this trait with Russell. Not the giving my twin sister cancer trait, but the survivor’s guilt trait. My older brother died when we were little, and I swear I’ve felt guilty about it every day of my bloomin’ life.

Mike: If I had to pick one thing that defines Russell’s odd batch of neuroses, it would be this belief about “killing” his sister. You could call this misguided belief a crutch, a shield, or even a security blanket.

Katy: In Russell’s mind, maybe if he takes the blame, it keeps him from blaming others--like his father or God. No matter, it stops him from moving forward.

Mike: We all have something (or someplace or someone) we’d rather plug our umbilical cords into. But if a Snickers candy bar merely satisfies, God satiates. He quenches, fulfills, forgives, loves, embraces, and even tickles us. We just forget—or refuse—to go there.

Katy: Russell does seem rather adept at avoiding God, huh?

Mike: In Russell’s case, as sad and painful as the death of his sister is, it’s still his favorite excuse. It’s way more convenient to convince himself he’s not worthy of anything better—work, art, relationships with girls, parents, or even Jesus—than to actually do and say (and eventually pray) the right things. Wow, that all sounds way more preachy than the actual novel, no?

Katy: That’s the beauty of Russell Fink--there’s no preaching! Russell’s father, who was a faith-healer at the time his own daughter died, also feels responsible for the family tragedy. He and Russell have been estranged for many years, and barely communicate on even a shallow level. But I nearly cried when Russell’s dad tells him, in a moment of seeing things clearly, that “When something bad happens, it’s not always someone’s fault.”

Mike: Man, I wish I could remember writing that. And I wish I were joking about not being able to remember.

Katy: Trust me, you wrote it. “When something bad happens, it’s not always someone’s fault.” This is a hard truth for both Russell and his father, and for me, too. How did you come up with it?

Mike: Forgive me while I stall around for a second with one of my pet theories…I’ve been accused of saying funny things from time to time.

Katy: I would think so.

Mike: And I don’t deny it because I love to say or write things that make people laugh. However…I try to never claim credit for creating funny things. Rather, I think there all just sort of floating around out there in the ether waiting to be observed and articulated.

Katy: That said, you are quite the amazing observor and articulator.

Mike: Thank you, Katy! I really do prefer themes in literature that sort of happen organically. This little nugget from Russell’s dad, I think, may be one of those things. When that line was born, I’m pretty sure the muse had taken over and I was merely the resident typist.

Katy: That’s a job I’ve always wanted. Nice work if you can get it.

Mike: But you’re right. It is a hard truth. One that I haven’t thought about in a while, which surprises me some because my brother passed away less than a month ago. That was a very bad thing. And frankly, the only one to “blame” would be God. And I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea.

Katy: I am so sorry about your loss, Mike. It makes me wonder if, in real life, we don’t sometimes try to “protect” God from blame by taking guilt upon ourselves. Not the best plan, either. I am sure your brother would have loved My Name Is Russell Fink.

Mike: You wanna know a cool irony about my brother? His Name Is Russell Snyder.

Katy: I’ve gotta think he loved that your character shared his name. Now, another irony: You use several words in your text that I have also used in my first novel. For example: behemoth and confection. I believe you also have at least one use of the word plethora. Explain.

Mike: Okay, but you won’t like it…My agent and I negotiated a deal with the entire book industry, basically garnering exclusive rights to all three-syllable words in the English language. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to report that all three of the words you mentioned are on the list.

Katy: Are my precious two-syllable words still safe?

Mike: You owe me money, Katy. Isn’t that cool? (For me anyway…)

Katy: Hey, I bought two of your novels, buddy!

Mike: My cash register dings every time you write your last name! McKenna, McKenna, McKenna!

Katy: I’m feeling a bit nauseous, not to mention broke, but it could be psychosomatic. Which reminds me: Russell’s hypochondria is also typical of those suffering survivor’s guilt, I think. We pretty much believe we owe it to the world to be croaking on a timely basis. At one point, Russell says (after a girl offers him her phone number) that “the lead ball of fatalism pounds my insides, reminding me how little time I have left to live.” Are you reading my mind, or what?

Mike: Yes, I am! And I’m happy to report the plethora of three-syllable words pinballing around in there too! Writing a hypochondriac was fun. I just hope it wasn’t over the top or anything.

Katy: I found it quite realistic. But then, I would…

Mike: The thing with Russell’s moles is semi-autobiographical. I really did have a doctor say “Oops!” while filleting one of my pectorals (if you can call them that…they feel more like water balloons these days). It was one of the only times I yelled at someone in authority over me.

Katy: Really? You are obviously not a child of the ‘60s.

Mike: And it was the only time I ever yelled at a guy with a scalpel in his hand! I think my voice cracked and I yelled something brilliant like, “Don’t say ‘oops’!”

Katy: I am not quite to the end of My Name is Russell Fink. I’d really like to know if Russell gets the girl and if so, which one. He is weirdly wired and wonderful, and deserves true love. Will he find it?

Mike: I wish I could tell you but I can’t. It is interesting when people want to know about events that happen to Russell and his pals after The End. But I have to say, I really don’t know. In fact, I had this conversation with a fellow the other night. He was vamping along on one of the themes of Russell Fink when I noticed he was talking about Geri’s (the love interest, for those of you who have not yet read the book) health situation after the end of the written story. My friend’s foregone conclusion was different than the one in my head.

Katy: For the sake of your future interviews, Geri’s health is completely restored. Seriously, don’t you think?

Mike: I think that’s the beauty of writing and reading fiction. We read the same book, were both moved by it, but came away with totally different experiences and assumptions of “Life After Russell.” And that’s okay by me. I like fiction that asks more questions than it answers.

Katy: I agree, Mike. Keep ‘em asking and thinking and laughing and crying, just like you do with Russell Fink.

Mike: See? You’re like great fiction that way…some really good questions. Thanks for letting me play along!

Katy: Mike, thank you so much for sharing with my fallible readers!! We truly appreciate you joining us here.

And now, I am giving away a completely unlaughed over and unwept upon copy of My Name Is Russell Fink to one of the randomly chosen commenters on this post. I’ll probably wait 48 hours or so before choosing a winner. So get your comments in, and enjoy one of my very fave authors, Michael Snyder.

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/12/08
(16) Fallible Comments • Permalink

So What Do You Suppose It Means When Your Entire BOOK Flashes Before Your Eyes?

If you’ve had a near-death experience, you may have had your whole life flash before your eyes. My younger sister, after a dreadful surgery, actually had her on-the-brink life appear in snippets, each tiny still-life contained in a fragment of a rapidly turning kaleidescope.

I’ve never had that happen, several near-death experiences notwithstanding. But last night, after shipping a hard copy of my finished book off to my agent (and after Doug took me out to a fantastic steak place to celebrate), I fell into a fitful sleep. All through the night, each and every scene of my story flashed before my eyes.

There are maybe 100 scenes in the book, and I swear I saw them play out in order. Very bizarre.

Any guesses what THAT might mean? Please do not respond if you’re inclined to believe that the interpretation is the likely near-death experience of my future in publishing. :)

All that to say that I’m thrilled beyond words to have gotten this far, and grateful for the constant encouragement my fallible friends have faithfully shared.

Thank you, one and all!!

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/06/08
(11) Fallible Comments • Permalink

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Mom was moved into a nursing home yesterday, but that is not a subject for The Lord’s Day, is it?

No. A subject for The Lord’s Day is Doug.

I just went in to awaken him. I’ve been up for eons, but Doug is not one to rise without a bit of encouragement.

“It’s nearly twenty till eight,” I said. “You’ll want to be getting up if you plan to go to church.”

He rolled over, looked at the clock, and said, “It’s 7:37.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“No, you said twenty till eight. There’s a difference. In the MORNING, it sounds much better if you say it with the 7 than with the 8.”

“But it’s the same thing.”

“No, Katy. It’s very, very different.”

This is the second new and very extremely weird thing I’ve learned about my husband of 31 years in the past couple of weeks. Here is the other:

If I decide on a complete whim to flip the roll of toilet paper so that it’s hanging against the wall rather than the correct way, Doug will flip it forward the next time he’s in the bathroom.

Then, if I flip it again (ten minutes later) just to see what he’ll do (remember, we are the ONLY TWO PEOPLE in this house), he will return it to the correct position on his next visit.

Furthermore, if he hears me laughing uproariously from the vicinity of the toitie multiple times per day over a five-day period, he will NOT ask me why I’m laughing.I guess he figures I’ve got a new issue of Reader’s Digest or something.

And when I cannot bear the hysterics any longer and confess that I’ve been flipping the TP for five days, he will admit that IT NEVER OCCURRED to him that ANYONE was switching it up--only that it was hung incorrectly.

I hope you have enjoyed this little peek into the lives of an empty nesting couple. Now, I’ve got to go give Doug another wake-up nudge.

It’s five minutes till eight.

Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/02/08
(7) Fallible Comments • Permalink

Part Trois

Late Sunday night, at 1 am, my sister Liz lay on my mother’s couch, listening to Mom’s frightening sleep-apnea-induced snoring and gasping. (Mom is non-compliant as far as wearing her c-pap apparatus). Suddenly, Mom’s breathing started coming in shorter, stranger snippets.

Liz went out to the nurse’s station and asked the nurse to come listen to Mom breathe. The nurse turned on Mom’s bedroom light and together they found her in the middle of a grand mal seizure. Grand with a capital G.

The nurse called 911, and the paramedics were there, for the second time that night, within approximately 60 seconds. Liz called me and said, “They can’t find any vitals. Get to the hospital as fast as you can.”

Doug and I had a 45-minute drive this time, but it took us maybe 20. They would not let us into Mom’s room for the first 1.5 hours, she was so unstable. Liz had seen enough and would not go into her room for quite a long time after we were allowed. Mom’s heart rate was 165, her temp was 103.7, her blood pressure was low and falling. Her O2 stats were pathetic. Her breathing was so bizarrely labored that we did not know how her body continued the effort. Her chest x-ray and EKG looked great, but everything else? Yikes.

There wasn’t a bed in the hospital to be had for love or money. She spent 18 hours in the ER before a bed became available in pulmonary. During that time, the ER doc asked to see DNR papers and an advanced directive (she has the first but not the second), because he felt certain the need to be put on life support was fast approaching, if that’s what she wanted.

Mom would never make a direct decision about life support when she was in her right mind, so my brother and I (who are her powers-of-attorney) had to go on record with the hospital that she is not to be put on a respirator. Thank God, we both agreed about this.

Tuesday was one of the most fascinating days of our lives. My sister Bridget chronicled some of the things Mom said, but all five of us, including my brother John, witnessed the insanity. Whether we die laughing or crying when we read over her comments now depends upon our frame of mind, I guess.

I will not disprespect my mother by repeating any of her inappropriate language in this space, but I am very grateful that it seems to have moderated. It was probably attributable to her extremely high blood sugars. What I feared was that perhaps the seizure had altered a frontal lobe in her brain, the one responsible for inhibitions.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure every one on earth wants their mother to have a few inhibitions! ;)

When some parts of her conditions stabilized, others rose up to taunt us. Her blood sugar rose to 500 and stayed there for two days, no matter what they tried. Plus, she went into respiratory failure, and was found to have renal insufficiency, hypercalcemia (when the calcium in your bones leaches into your blood), and e coli. Tuesday night, because of all these issues, they transfered her to ICU--the only area in the hospital where they could do an insulin drip.

By last night, her blood sugars were much better and so she was moved yet again to a med-surg floor. Today, someone (a nurse or doctor in another unit, I guess) had asked for a psych consult, so I got to answer all that doc’s questions (out in the hallway...) since Mom thinks she’s at the Ritz and is, according to the good doc, “delusional.”

And so, my friends, am I. OK, maybe not delusional. I’m pretty sure I’ve still got a toe-hold on reality. But sometimes, it feels like just barely. Nevertheless, I am certain of the faithfulness, love, and kindness of God. I’m clinging to Him with all my soul.

If Mom makes it out of the hospital (she hasn’t made it out of the bed yet...), I am certain we are in for another nursing home stay. Then we will see if she can safely transfer back into the assisted living setting. She’s not a happy girl in any way, shape, or form, but when in a nursing home, she is downright miserable. And she pretty much takes me down with her, big girl that she is.

That’s all I have to say about this. Any and all prayers for my mother are GREATLY appreciated.

I need prayer, too. I’ve gotten exhausted this week (the daily migraines aren’t helping) and unfortunately, Mom always seems to have a lot more where this came from.

Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/28/08
(6) Fallible Comments • Permalink

Mama Land, Part Deux

Because Doug and I had been at Mom’s for three hours before she actually left her facility in the ambulance, my sisters Liz and Mary took the next shift.

They were in the ER for five hours or so on Sunday night. Sure enough, Mom had another UTI. They started her on antibiotics and sent her home. Liz and Mary scared me to death (and yet, I live...) when they said Mom could not take a single step from the ER gurney to the wheelchair. She had to be lifted, then lifted again into Liz’s car.

Mary called me when they were on their way back to Mom’s to tell me this.

“How will you get her into her apartment?” I asked, always one to foresee the end from the beginning. “And will one of you spend the night with her?”

“We don’t know how we’ll get her in,” Mary said, “But Liz is staying with her.”

It never occured to me from then until now to ask how they got her into her place, undressed, and into bed.

But I thank the dear Lord that Liz didn’t leave.

Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/28/08
(0) Fallible Comments • Permalink

A Week In The Life: A Serial Account, Due To The Frequent Timing Out Of The Wifi

It all started (sure, it did...) on Sunday afternoon. A nurse at my mother’s assisted living facilty called me to say Mom hadn’t been feeling well all day.

“But I just checked her vital signs, and they are all good,” she said.

I waited upwards of 30 seconds before calling Mom’s room. She was completely incoherent. Doug and I arrived at her place within 15 minutes, a much shorter trip than if we hadn’t broken the law by speeding.

Upon seeing her, I was instantly on red alert. She could not lift her head from the bed, where she lay mostly naked. She could not utter more than two words in a row, and those words made no sense. I felt her forehead. Dear God.

I called the new nurse on duty to take her temp. The nurse who called me, claiming her vitals were good, had not charted a temp for her. How charming.

Immediately suspecting another UTI, since she’s had two recently although she did not run a temp with them, I had the nurse call the doc to authorize a run to the ER. The doc on call said, essentially, that it would be up to me to decide, but that it was OK with her. Huh?????

So I decided. I always decide. I am often considered to be overreacting. However, I rarely am.

Because the nurse considered Mom’s trip to the ER to be a non-emergency, she expressed it that way to the paramedics. It took them 1.5 hours to arrive. I thought we’d be going 5 minutes down the road to the hospital she always goes to. It took me the full 1.5 hours to get her dressed and her hair combed.

When the EMTs arrived, they said she’d be going to St. Luke’s or no where at all. It’s a 30 minute ride from Mom’s place, but EVERY ER in the KC metro between here and there was shut down to new patients. Overflow crowds all over town. The craziest thing I’d ever witnessed.

At least, up until then.

Trust me, a lot can happen in four days.

Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/28/08
(0) Fallible Comments • Permalink

Testing The Wifi From…You Guessed It…The Hospital

Don’t know if I can successfully post from beautiful St. Luke’s Hospital on the historic Country Club Plaza in Kansas City or not.

If this works, I’ll post more......

Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/28/08
(0) Fallible Comments • Permalink

Agents Are Funny People, Too

You may have noticed that there has been a veritable dearth of blogging going on here at fallible. If you are a long-time reader, you may also remember that I have referred to a “veritable dearth” of blogging on at least one other occasion in the past seven plus years. It happens, sometimes. And when it does, I love nothing better than to refer to it as exactly what it is: a veritable dearth.

Believe me, I will be posting something of substance again soon. Because tons of substantive stuff is going on. Really. Why, just three days ago, Doug and I celebrated our 31st wedding anniversary. Except for, we didn’t celebrate. Actually, we skipped out on Valentine’s Day, too. But we did so happily, and with a vision for a future celebration, not too many days hence, which will more than make up for it.

When Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary offered to be my literary agent on Tuesday, February 5, 2008, at 4:30 p.m. Central Time, she said she would not be able to read the rest of my novel (she’d read three chapters) until March 1. So, since that hour, I have spent every waking minute and most of the sleeping ones getting my book in the best shape I can.

So that’s my excuse for not blogging much, but what I want to share is one of the first things Rachelle said during our phone call that day. It threw me completely, and until she explained what she meant, I was my typical fallible self.

“I want to read that scene,” she said.

I knew she’d already read many more scenes from my novel, so I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I don’t understand...Which scene?”

“The one you say you’ve used to pitch agents, in your blog post called ’An Open Letter To All The Remaining Literary Agents I’ve Not Yet Contacted.’”

It’s really bad when you have to ask the woman who might be about to offer you representation what the heck you wrote in your own blog post, but um...I had to ask her.

“You indicated that you’ve got exactly one scene written, and you sure aren’t going to go to the trouble of writing more unless someone signs you. I wanna see that scene!”

You know what’s crazy about spoofy Open Letters To Literary Agents? It could actually happen, because of the kookiness known as the Internet, that The Agent who ends up representing you READS THAT LETTER.

So, if you’re going to write one, make it memorable. And it wouldn’t hurt to write a really good scene, either.

Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/22/08
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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Read more Katy at... LateBoomer.net Most Recent Posts New Math International House Of…..Watch Out! Have Yourself A Merry Little Colonoscopy! Spell Check You Are Not Alone Don’t Know Much About The Big Three Why, Oh Why Didn’t I Take Home Ec? Really, Really Fun While It Lasts! In Defense Of Good Old-Fashioned Books Things I’ve Said That I’m Happy Someone Else Didn’t Say First, One In An Ongoing Series Of Several Do Depression Meds Work For This? The T-Shirt Off Our Backs For The Fallible Record Long Time, No Blog Droppin’ Gs Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	The Memory Keeper’s Daughter I worry sometimes that when I’m dead, no one will remember my brother. It’s a quiet worry, not one that I’ve ever expressed in words until now. But I guess I’ve carried it in my heart all my life. Do you feel surprised when you open your containers of Christmas ornaments each year? I’m always shocked at the gasps of joy and stray tears of nostalgia that escape me when I see the treasures my children made for me during their school years. They are my most precious decorations. But there, among these keepsakes, is one I weep over season after season. It’s a tiny red and ivory knit stocking, no bigger than a baby’s sock, with a printed Santa and the words “Baby’s First Christmas.” I can’t help how I feel when I hang it on my tree. I can’t help thinking of my parents celebrating Christmas 1951 with their three-month-old firstborn child, unaware that he’d only ever spend three more Christmases on this earth. I can’t help it that I’ve already asked my sweet daughter to become the caretaker for Patrick’s stocking someday. I’ve already asked my daughter to not forget. Because, you see, my mother now remembers less about her little boy than I do. I repeat back to her the stories she’s told me about his short life, and she shakes her head. “Did I tell you that, really? It was so long ago, like another lifetime...” It didn’t used to be like this. In one way, my mother’s whole life has revolved around the loss of this one dear son. But now, so much has faded in focus for her, and so I have become, of my own volition, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. I know that Patrick’s name will someday--perhaps with the passage of only one more generation--be little more than a brief line in a family tree. A line with no branches descending beneath it. Someday, perhaps one of my own grandchildren will take up an interest in family history and ask about the little boy without a story. Will the Baby’s First Christmas stocking hang on a tree somewhere for generations to come? Or will the threads finally disintegrate like a mother’s fragile mind? I think I know the truth, but it’s hard to face it. There are some things I’ll take with me to the grave, but I can still hope my brother’s memory isn’t one of them. Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/26/08 (5) Fallible Comments • Permalink Ready To Enter Part Two Of My Agent’s Contest? I am thrilled that quite a number of fallible readers entered my literary agent’s fun contest this past week! If you’d like to read the top six “first lines” Rachelle chose from 301 entries, hop over to her site. Now, you have a second opportunity to get a piece of your writing in front of an agent. Just choose one of the six first lines and write the next 300 words. The rules of the contest are on Rachelle’s site, with the deadline and prize information, so jump on over there. I sure would love to see one of you fallible ones walk away with the big prize! By the way, I’ve used the words hop, walk, and jump, probably because I’m excited that my line came in third place. And it’s about shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. All of them dropping. :) Have fun, you contest-happy people, you! Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/26/08 (1) Fallible Comments • Permalink Back When I Was Your Age--A Rant Dang. That title is one I didn’t think I’d ever write in this lifetime. And yet, there it is. And with good reason, I might add. For today I’d like to talk about how homes used to be purchased back in the old days. For the sake of this illustration, the old days will include any days up to and including November of 1994, when we moved into the third house we’ve owned during our marriage. You may not remember this, or even realize that this is the way the world used to operate, but not very long ago, a prospective homeowner had no choice but to cough up a 20% down payment for a house. Right about now, you may be thinking that coming up with that kind of cash is easy, what with loans from parents and cash advances on credit cards. But here’s the rub: the hopeful buyers had to PROVE that the money they were putting down actually belonged to THEM by providing bank records and paycheck stubs and tax forms and all kinds of other evidence. No bank on earth allowed you to fall in love with a $40,000 house (as we did in 1979) and then borrow $8000 from dear old Mom and Dad as your very first act of long-term indebtedness. If your bank statements showed a recent and unexplained (read: unearned) infusion of $$$$$, you were of all unsavory characters most to be suspected. To top it off, in 1979 the prevailing interest rate on home mortgages had risen to something like 12%, and would keep rising over the next couple of years to more than 15%. Now, if you were a saver back then--and there were actually people still committed to saving 10% of their income as a matter of course--you could really pile up some cash with interest rates like that. But if you just wanted to move from a too-small apartment into a starter home, it was going to cost you. We got in on a great deal, though. We were able to “assume” the loan of a veteran, paying a down payment ($8000) and then taking over his payments for the remaining 28 years of his loan. We locked in his interest rate, which was 8%, plus we did not have to qualify income-wise like we would have with a regular loan. At the time, I was due to give birth to Scotty. Doug was making $600 per month and our house payment was a shocking $300. Looking back, this was something of a risky move for us. We COULD NOT have a car payment and survive. (Heck, we could barely have a car and survive!) We did not have a credit card between us, so no temptation there. And yet, the risk we took on was NOTHING compared to the sub-prime mess being bought into hook, line, and sinker by lenders and borrowers alike in the current shake-down. Because the fact that we put 20% down provided us with protection against the potential of falling housing prices. If we got desperate, we could always sell the house and get our cash out. I can’t tell you the last time I heard of a borrower putting down 20% on a house. It used to be that if you did not have 20%, you were “renters.” There was no shame associated with renting, but there was a huge responsibility associated with purchasing. Another thing that only people on the margins would consider back then was taking out a “second mortgage.” I distinctly remember an episode of All In The Family in the early 70s, in which Archie Bunker (unbeknownst to his long-suffering wife, Edith) took a second mortgage against their home to finance his purchase of the neighborhood pub. My father nearly died when we watched that show together, since he and my mother had just finished paying off a 20-year mortgage in 11 years. “Never, ever take out a second mortgage,” Dad said. “Not even to do home improvements. You could lose your house!” These days? Home equity lines of credit are how people fund their vacations, pay for their children’s educations, finance weddings, and buy stocks which are all but guaranteed to go higher. And why not?? EVERYONE KNOWS that home values only go one direction--up! Why not use some (or all) of that equity to provide yourself and your loved ones with all the advantages a line of credit against your one-and-only home can provide? OK, so technically it might not BE your one-and-only home. You MIGHT have taken the equity out of your primary residence to put minuscule down payments on any number of rental homes, because that’s the American way, right? It might be the American way, but it’s really, really not smart. Really. Trust me on this. Now that I’m my age, I look around and see nothing but fall-out from the terrible lending practices that have resulted in consumers with nutty entitlement mentalities overextending themselves with little to no margin on which to fall back. Doug and I own a lovely home which we built 13 years ago. At the time, we not only put down the required 20%, but we also borrowed scores of thousands of dollars less than the bank begged to lend us. We did not WANT to borrow the maximum allowed by law, because if something--anything--went wrong, our home would be at risk. Now, our home’s value is being undermined by the foreclosures of a number of houses in our area. Evidently, even in the high-end neighborhood adjoining ours, borrowers were allowed to put almost no money down and to take out jumbo loans with terms that could only be described as “easy credit.” Then when they lost their jobs at Sprint or wherever, or their adjustable mortgages, umm, adjusted, they could no longer make the payments on their McMansions. Two houses near us, recently valued at 1.5 million each, sold for paltry sums like $850,000. What if you, a responsible borrower with a significant amount of home equity you hoped not to lose, wanted to sell your own home--but lived next door to one selling for half the price you should have been able to get? Of course, disasters like health crises happen which sometimes force homeowners into foreclosure. But the articles I’ve read about this situation indicate these homeowners borrowed WAY more than they could afford, at terms which were ridiculously liberal to the extreme. Unless the housing market had gone STRAIGHT UP, they were doomed from the beginning to lose their shirts. I don’t know if I feel sorry for them or not, but I REALLY feel sorry for those who are trying to behave in a fiscally responsible manner and still get caught in the crossfire, with their properties losing value hand-over-fist. What about you?? Any housing market stories you’d care to share? Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/24/08 (7) Fallible Comments • Permalink Holy Weak When my mother was in the hospital, she almost died from like a dozen different things, all feeding off each other. It was a systems-wide failure, and quite hard to keep up with. Just when we imagined that it would be respiratory failure that got her, her blood sugar shot up to 500 and stayed there. Then, when we figured the old heart rate of 165 didn’t bode well for her future on earth, her blood pressure would plummet to nearly nothing. And if she wanted to speak a few words, we’d have to move the oxygen mask from her face, which would make her 02 stats tumble toward the dark side within seconds. It wasn’t pretty. Now she’s in a nursing home, to receive some much-needed (but, I’m afraid, not terribly beneficial) therapy. I hoped she’d gain better transferring skills (since she has fallen twice already this year trying to get on or off her couch) and some more hygienic bathroom skills (since she now gets back-to-back urinary tract infections and has a hard time negotiating Depends with her broken arm). They say that by this time next week, she’ll probably have gone as far with therapy as she’s going to go. This is code for “Medicare will only pay for the days on which she is making progress in therapy. If we cannot document that she is progressing, she’s on her own dime....” So, she will either be moving back to her assisted living facility or becoming a permanent resident of a nursing home. Last night, just to complicate matters, she had her fifth or sixth episode of extremely low blood sugar. Right before dinner time, when the nurse came in to check her blood sugars, she was found in a pond of her own sweat, having drenched her clothing and all the bedding right down to the plastic mattress. Her blood sugar reading was 25!!!! Literature reveals that a coma can occur at 30, seizures at 20, and irreversible brain damage at 10, but all these numbers are variable depending on the patient, her other medical conditions, and many other factors. In this case, she was able to swallow a serving of Ensure and recovered. I spent much of the day on the phone with doctors and in the office of the social worker. I explained to the nursing home doctor that her current insulin regimen was initiated by the endocrinologist at the hospital, largely in reaction to the readings of 500. But that Mom’s family doctor had her sugars on a consistently-too-high-but-very-stable track for the past two years. I told the facility doc that I want her regimen returned to what it was before her hospitalization, because her bones are so horrible and she is such a huge fall risk. And of course because one more episode like last night’s might be the last. I know everyone has to die of something, but THAT seems like a dumb thing if it can be prevented. One day, I’ll write a lovely, heart-wrenching essay about this whole experience, but today is not that day. Sometimes, I’m just tired. Please pray for my mom, that her heart will find peace with Jesus. That she’ll surrender her life to the kindness of His love. I am grateful, in all of this, that God never tires of hearing our voices, of answering our cries. That His faithfulness is constant and His mercy ever new. I’m depending on Him. Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/19/08 (7) Fallible Comments • Permalink A Not-To-Be-Missed Opportunity! My agent, Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary, has come up with a great contest over on her site. For any of you who have literary aspirations, don’t miss it! It is a great chance to get your ideas and a sample of your writing in front of an agent who is still open to new clients. Read those rules carefully, and good luck with your submissions! Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/18/08 (3) Fallible Comments • Permalink So After You Sign With An Agent, Then What? Several people have emailed me (or written a message on my facebook wall) asking “Now that you’ve got an agent, when is your book coming out?” It’s such a typical question, I thought I’d address it here at fallible. After all, I know quite a number of you are writers and hope to be published one day. Why not make the waters a little less muddy? Another comment came from one of my sisters, and I think it might be a common observation, as well. “I really don’t know what it means to have an agent.” It was hard for her to get very excited for me, because it seemed of very little consequence. She may imagine it’s kind of like acquiring a real estate agent to sell your house. Typically, if you put a For Sale By Owner sign in your yard, you will be inundated with calls from agents wanting to list your house. As you are probably aware, it’s rarely the “listing agent” who actually ends up selling your house. The listing agent will be only one of several people who will split the commission when your house finally sells. Getting a literary agent isn’t quite that easy, but it’s becoming ever more important to those who want to sell their manuscripts. Even a few years ago, many more publishing houses were open to looking at the work of unagented authors than are willing to now. It’s getting so the only way to get your manuscript in front of an acquiring editor is to meet with him in person at a writers conference, garnering his permission to forward your work at a later date. But unless you are made of money and can attend many conferences per year, there are only so many editors you can realistically hope to chat up on your own. (During a typical three-day conference, an attendee gets to sign up for fifteen-minute meetings with one editor and one agent. Other contacts occur at meals, wandering the halls, in the elevator, but NOT in the bathroom! At least, SOMETHING is sacred!) Many agents, however, will look at the work of unpublished authors, although even then they prefer it if you’ve met with them at a conference or if you come recommended to them by an author they know and trust. The statistics I’ve read on the subject seem to indicate that agents, on average, end up representing 1% of all the submissions they see. So, yes, even signing with an agent is something of a long shot. But once you’ve signed, your chances of ultimately getting published increase dramatically. All of a sudden, publishers are willing to at least take a peek at your book, which is being presented to them by an agent who studies the markets for a living and knows what the different publishers are looking for at any given time. Still, even with a great agent in your corner, there are no guarantees your book will find a home. My understanding from what I’ve read is that agents tend to sell approximately 50% of the books they attempt to place. The way I look at it, that’s fantastic. Especially since, without an agent in my corner, I understood my chances of making a sale to be only 1%. So, the answer to the big question of when my book will be published is “I have no idea...” I hope that’s not ALWAYS the answer, but while I’m waiting to see what happens with the book my agent now has in her hands, I will be writing the next one. ‘Cause THAT’S what happens when you sign with an agent! Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/15/08 Permalink Kathryn Harris, Come On Down!! Hey, Kathryn! You have won a free copy of Michael Snyder’s fun novel, My Name Is Russell Fink. Congratulations! Email me with your postal address, and I’ll ship your prize to you. Thanks to everyone who commented, and a special thanks again to Mike. What a great sport, and an awesome author! Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/15/08 (1) Fallible Comments • Permalink Michael Snyder Is WAY More Than Michael Number Five Of The Michaels Who Comment Here! I’m betting a few of you know about debut fiction author Michael Snyder and his wonderful novel, My Name Is Russell Fink. Let me say, first of all, that when I met Mike at an American Christian Fiction Writers Conference in Nashville a couple of years ago, I was instantly smitten. Not in a weird-crush kind of way, but in an excited-to-see-what’s-gonna-happen-with-him kind of way. Mike has one of my all-time favorite personalities: a well-proportioned mix of LOL funny, self-deprecating, humble, and audacious. He says and writes stuff no one else could get away with, and does it with aplomb. And maybe even a plum, I don’t know. Of all the things we discussed, we managed not to get into fruits. There’s something else you should know, too. I asked Mike about a month ago if he would like to appear here on fallible, after his book hit the market and I’d had a chance to read it. He agreed. By then, I’d gotten an agent, and had a March 1 deadline by which I needed to have my finished manuscipt in her hands. “I won’t even be able to read Russell Fink until after my deadline,” I said, hoping that wasn’t too late for him in terms of getting the good word out about his book on a timely basis. “That’s great,” he said. “Anytime will be fine.” Then, as you know, my mother became critically ill, which meant I needed a bit longer to finish my work. So Michael waited, but as it turns out, he had a terrible turn of events happening in his life, too. On February 16, his 47-year old brother died completely unexpectedly. I did not know this until Mike and I reconnected this morning. Some of my interview questions actually refer to the death-of-a-sibling thread that runs through his novel, since I have also had a brother die and have been deeply affected by it my whole life long. As you read our interview, please know that I asked the questions without knowing about Mike’s brother, and he answered them with grace, compassion, and his trademark wit. Katy: I am not a fan of discussion questions in the backs of novels. Reading them only makes me want to discuss how awful they are. But your discussion questions ALONE are worth the price of the book. Here is your own Discussion Question Number Two. Please answer it for us: “If someone told you to quit your current job to do something you really love (like Dr. K. advises Russell in your book), would you do it? What if the thing you really love to do is to scam people in the name of God?” Mike: I guess one could argue that my job as a novelist for a Christian publisher really is to scam people in the name of God, right? I mean, I’m trying to get people to believe a made-up story. Katy: Just so you know, I totally believed it. But I’m easy that way.... Mike: As hokey as it sounds, my ideal job would involve helping people, encouraging people, and writing. So really, between my day job as a manufacturer’s rep and my other job as a novelist, I get to scratch all those itches with some regularity. I do try to avoid scratching in public though. Katy: I’ll go ahead and admit that I don’t know what kind of products you sell. But I do know this: in Russell Fink, you helped and encouraged me through your writing alone. Seriously, the whole time I was laughing, I was applying the story’s truths to my own life and heart. So if you were only selling books, I’d be a happy customer. Mike: To actually answer the question however, I’m mostly content—or at least as content as we humans can be on this side of eternity. I’m an unrelenting realist, so it’s hard to imagine that the vocational grass is greener anywhere else. Although I did read a story just today about this company that sells these very cool handmade shoes, then uses one hundred percent of the profits to pay for heart surgeries for kids in Iraq. That’s a pretty darn good example of missional living. Katy: Speaking of a man on a mission, Russell Fink seems to be on a mission of perpetuating his funky case of survivor’s guilt. He is a fully adult man who believes he “gave” his twin sister cancer when they were kids. I share this trait with Russell. Not the giving my twin sister cancer trait, but the survivor’s guilt trait. My older brother died when we were little, and I swear I’ve felt guilty about it every day of my bloomin’ life. Mike: If I had to pick one thing that defines Russell’s odd batch of neuroses, it would be this belief about “killing” his sister. You could call this misguided belief a crutch, a shield, or even a security blanket. Katy: In Russell’s mind, maybe if he takes the blame, it keeps him from blaming others--like his father or God. No matter, it stops him from moving forward. Mike: We all have something (or someplace or someone) we’d rather plug our umbilical cords into. But if a Snickers candy bar merely satisfies, God satiates. He quenches, fulfills, forgives, loves, embraces, and even tickles us. We just forget—or refuse—to go there. Katy: Russell does seem rather adept at avoiding God, huh? Mike: In Russell’s case, as sad and painful as the death of his sister is, it’s still his favorite excuse. It’s way more convenient to convince himself he’s not worthy of anything better—work, art, relationships with girls, parents, or even Jesus—than to actually do and say (and eventually pray) the right things. Wow, that all sounds way more preachy than the actual novel, no? Katy: That’s the beauty of Russell Fink--there’s no preaching! Russell’s father, who was a faith-healer at the time his own daughter died, also feels responsible for the family tragedy. He and Russell have been estranged for many years, and barely communicate on even a shallow level. But I nearly cried when Russell’s dad tells him, in a moment of seeing things clearly, that “When something bad happens, it’s not always someone’s fault.” Mike: Man, I wish I could remember writing that. And I wish I were joking about not being able to remember. Katy: Trust me, you wrote it. “When something bad happens, it’s not always someone’s fault.” This is a hard truth for both Russell and his father, and for me, too. How did you come up with it? Mike: Forgive me while I stall around for a second with one of my pet theories…I’ve been accused of saying funny things from time to time. Katy: I would think so. Mike: And I don’t deny it because I love to say or write things that make people laugh. However…I try to never claim credit for creating funny things. Rather, I think there all just sort of floating around out there in the ether waiting to be observed and articulated. Katy: That said, you are quite the amazing observor and articulator. Mike: Thank you, Katy! I really do prefer themes in literature that sort of happen organically. This little nugget from Russell’s dad, I think, may be one of those things. When that line was born, I’m pretty sure the muse had taken over and I was merely the resident typist. Katy: That’s a job I’ve always wanted. Nice work if you can get it. Mike: But you’re right. It is a hard truth. One that I haven’t thought about in a while, which surprises me some because my brother passed away less than a month ago. That was a very bad thing. And frankly, the only one to “blame” would be God. And I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea. Katy: I am so sorry about your loss, Mike. It makes me wonder if, in real life, we don’t sometimes try to “protect” God from blame by taking guilt upon ourselves. Not the best plan, either. I am sure your brother would have loved My Name Is Russell Fink. Mike: You wanna know a cool irony about my brother? His Name Is Russell Snyder. Katy: I’ve gotta think he loved that your character shared his name. Now, another irony: You use several words in your text that I have also used in my first novel. For example: behemoth and confection. I believe you also have at least one use of the word plethora. Explain. Mike: Okay, but you won’t like it…My agent and I negotiated a deal with the entire book industry, basically garnering exclusive rights to all three-syllable words in the English language. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to report that all three of the words you mentioned are on the list. Katy: Are my precious two-syllable words still safe? Mike: You owe me money, Katy. Isn’t that cool? (For me anyway…) Katy: Hey, I bought two of your novels, buddy! Mike: My cash register dings every time you write your last name! McKenna, McKenna, McKenna! Katy: I’m feeling a bit nauseous, not to mention broke, but it could be psychosomatic. Which reminds me: Russell’s hypochondria is also typical of those suffering survivor’s guilt, I think. We pretty much believe we owe it to the world to be croaking on a timely basis. At one point, Russell says (after a girl offers him her phone number) that “the lead ball of fatalism pounds my insides, reminding me how little time I have left to live.” Are you reading my mind, or what? Mike: Yes, I am! And I’m happy to report the plethora of three-syllable words pinballing around in there too! Writing a hypochondriac was fun. I just hope it wasn’t over the top or anything. Katy: I found it quite realistic. But then, I would… Mike: The thing with Russell’s moles is semi-autobiographical. I really did have a doctor say “Oops!” while filleting one of my pectorals (if you can call them that…they feel more like water balloons these days). It was one of the only times I yelled at someone in authority over me. Katy: Really? You are obviously not a child of the ‘60s. Mike: And it was the only time I ever yelled at a guy with a scalpel in his hand! I think my voice cracked and I yelled something brilliant like, “Don’t say ‘oops’!” Katy: I am not quite to the end of My Name is Russell Fink. I’d really like to know if Russell gets the girl and if so, which one. He is weirdly wired and wonderful, and deserves true love. Will he find it? Mike: I wish I could tell you but I can’t. It is interesting when people want to know about events that happen to Russell and his pals after The End. But I have to say, I really don’t know. In fact, I had this conversation with a fellow the other night. He was vamping along on one of the themes of Russell Fink when I noticed he was talking about Geri’s (the love interest, for those of you who have not yet read the book) health situation after the end of the written story. My friend’s foregone conclusion was different than the one in my head. Katy: For the sake of your future interviews, Geri’s health is completely restored. Seriously, don’t you think? Mike: I think that’s the beauty of writing and reading fiction. We read the same book, were both moved by it, but came away with totally different experiences and assumptions of “Life After Russell.” And that’s okay by me. I like fiction that asks more questions than it answers. Katy: I agree, Mike. Keep ‘em asking and thinking and laughing and crying, just like you do with Russell Fink. Mike: See? You’re like great fiction that way…some really good questions. Thanks for letting me play along! Katy: Mike, thank you so much for sharing with my fallible readers!! We truly appreciate you joining us here. And now, I am giving away a completely unlaughed over and unwept upon copy of My Name Is Russell Fink to one of the randomly chosen commenters on this post. I’ll probably wait 48 hours or so before choosing a winner. So get your comments in, and enjoy one of my very fave authors, Michael Snyder. Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/12/08 (16) Fallible Comments • Permalink So What Do You Suppose It Means When Your Entire BOOK Flashes Before Your Eyes? If you’ve had a near-death experience, you may have had your whole life flash before your eyes. My younger sister, after a dreadful surgery, actually had her on-the-brink life appear in snippets, each tiny still-life contained in a fragment of a rapidly turning kaleidescope. I’ve never had that happen, several near-death experiences notwithstanding. But last night, after shipping a hard copy of my finished book off to my agent (and after Doug took me out to a fantastic steak place to celebrate), I fell into a fitful sleep. All through the night, each and every scene of my story flashed before my eyes. There are maybe 100 scenes in the book, and I swear I saw them play out in order. Very bizarre. Any guesses what THAT might mean? Please do not respond if you’re inclined to believe that the interpretation is the likely near-death experience of my future in publishing. :) All that to say that I’m thrilled beyond words to have gotten this far, and grateful for the constant encouragement my fallible friends have faithfully shared. Thank you, one and all!! Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/06/08 (11) Fallible Comments • Permalink Sunday Morning Coming Down Mom was moved into a nursing home yesterday, but that is not a subject for The Lord’s Day, is it? No. A subject for The Lord’s Day is Doug. I just went in to awaken him. I’ve been up for eons, but Doug is not one to rise without a bit of encouragement. “It’s nearly twenty till eight,” I said. “You’ll want to be getting up if you plan to go to church.” He rolled over, looked at the clock, and said, “It’s 7:37.” “Yeah. That’s what I said.” “No, you said twenty till eight. There’s a difference. In the MORNING, it sounds much better if you say it with the 7 than with the 8.” “But it’s the same thing.” “No, Katy. It’s very, very different.” This is the second new and very extremely weird thing I’ve learned about my husband of 31 years in the past couple of weeks. Here is the other: If I decide on a complete whim to flip the roll of toilet paper so that it’s hanging against the wall rather than the correct way, Doug will flip it forward the next time he’s in the bathroom. Then, if I flip it again (ten minutes later) just to see what he’ll do (remember, we are the ONLY TWO PEOPLE in this house), he will return it to the correct position on his next visit. Furthermore, if he hears me laughing uproariously from the vicinity of the toitie multiple times per day over a five-day period, he will NOT ask me why I’m laughing.I guess he figures I’ve got a new issue of Reader’s Digest or something. And when I cannot bear the hysterics any longer and confess that I’ve been flipping the TP for five days, he will admit that IT NEVER OCCURRED to him that ANYONE was switching it up--only that it was hung incorrectly. I hope you have enjoyed this little peek into the lives of an empty nesting couple. Now, I’ve got to go give Doug another wake-up nudge. It’s five minutes till eight. Posted by Katy McKenna on 03/02/08 (7) Fallible Comments • Permalink Part Trois Late Sunday night, at 1 am, my sister Liz lay on my mother’s couch, listening to Mom’s frightening sleep-apnea-induced snoring and gasping. (Mom is non-compliant as far as wearing her c-pap apparatus). Suddenly, Mom’s breathing started coming in shorter, stranger snippets. Liz went out to the nurse’s station and asked the nurse to come listen to Mom breathe. The nurse turned on Mom’s bedroom light and together they found her in the middle of a grand mal seizure. Grand with a capital G. The nurse called 911, and the paramedics were there, for the second time that night, within approximately 60 seconds. Liz called me and said, “They can’t find any vitals. Get to the hospital as fast as you can.” Doug and I had a 45-minute drive this time, but it took us maybe 20. They would not let us into Mom’s room for the first 1.5 hours, she was so unstable. Liz had seen enough and would not go into her room for quite a long time after we were allowed. Mom’s heart rate was 165, her temp was 103.7, her blood pressure was low and falling. Her O2 stats were pathetic. Her breathing was so bizarrely labored that we did not know how her body continued the effort. Her chest x-ray and EKG looked great, but everything else? Yikes. There wasn’t a bed in the hospital to be had for love or money. She spent 18 hours in the ER before a bed became available in pulmonary. During that time, the ER doc asked to see DNR papers and an advanced directive (she has the first but not the second), because he felt certain the need to be put on life support was fast approaching, if that’s what she wanted. Mom would never make a direct decision about life support when she was in her right mind, so my brother and I (who are her powers-of-attorney) had to go on record with the hospital that she is not to be put on a respirator. Thank God, we both agreed about this. Tuesday was one of the most fascinating days of our lives. My sister Bridget chronicled some of the things Mom said, but all five of us, including my brother John, witnessed the insanity. Whether we die laughing or crying when we read over her comments now depends upon our frame of mind, I guess. I will not disprespect my mother by repeating any of her inappropriate language in this space, but I am very grateful that it seems to have moderated. It was probably attributable to her extremely high blood sugars. What I feared was that perhaps the seizure had altered a frontal lobe in her brain, the one responsible for inhibitions. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure every one on earth wants their mother to have a few inhibitions! ;) When some parts of her conditions stabilized, others rose up to taunt us. Her blood sugar rose to 500 and stayed there for two days, no matter what they tried. Plus, she went into respiratory failure, and was found to have renal insufficiency, hypercalcemia (when the calcium in your bones leaches into your blood), and e coli. Tuesday night, because of all these issues, they transfered her to ICU--the only area in the hospital where they could do an insulin drip. By last night, her blood sugars were much better and so she was moved yet again to a med-surg floor. Today, someone (a nurse or doctor in another unit, I guess) had asked for a psych consult, so I got to answer all that doc’s questions (out in the hallway...) since Mom thinks she’s at the Ritz and is, according to the good doc, “delusional.” And so, my friends, am I. OK, maybe not delusional. I’m pretty sure I’ve still got a toe-hold on reality. But sometimes, it feels like just barely. Nevertheless, I am certain of the faithfulness, love, and kindness of God. I’m clinging to Him with all my soul. If Mom makes it out of the hospital (she hasn’t made it out of the bed yet...), I am certain we are in for another nursing home stay. Then we will see if she can safely transfer back into the assisted living setting. She’s not a happy girl in any way, shape, or form, but when in a nursing home, she is downright miserable. And she pretty much takes me down with her, big girl that she is. That’s all I have to say about this. Any and all prayers for my mother are GREATLY appreciated. I need prayer, too. I’ve gotten exhausted this week (the daily migraines aren’t helping) and unfortunately, Mom always seems to have a lot more where this came from. Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/28/08 (6) Fallible Comments • Permalink Mama Land, Part Deux Because Doug and I had been at Mom’s for three hours before she actually left her facility in the ambulance, my sisters Liz and Mary took the next shift. They were in the ER for five hours or so on Sunday night. Sure enough, Mom had another UTI. They started her on antibiotics and sent her home. Liz and Mary scared me to death (and yet, I live...) when they said Mom could not take a single step from the ER gurney to the wheelchair. She had to be lifted, then lifted again into Liz’s car. Mary called me when they were on their way back to Mom’s to tell me this. “How will you get her into her apartment?” I asked, always one to foresee the end from the beginning. “And will one of you spend the night with her?” “We don’t know how we’ll get her in,” Mary said, “But Liz is staying with her.” It never occured to me from then until now to ask how they got her into her place, undressed, and into bed. But I thank the dear Lord that Liz didn’t leave. Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/28/08 (0) Fallible Comments • Permalink A Week In The Life: A Serial Account, Due To The Frequent Timing Out Of The Wifi It all started (sure, it did...) on Sunday afternoon. A nurse at my mother’s assisted living facilty called me to say Mom hadn’t been feeling well all day. “But I just checked her vital signs, and they are all good,” she said. I waited upwards of 30 seconds before calling Mom’s room. She was completely incoherent. Doug and I arrived at her place within 15 minutes, a much shorter trip than if we hadn’t broken the law by speeding. Upon seeing her, I was instantly on red alert. She could not lift her head from the bed, where she lay mostly naked. She could not utter more than two words in a row, and those words made no sense. I felt her forehead. Dear God. I called the new nurse on duty to take her temp. The nurse who called me, claiming her vitals were good, had not charted a temp for her. How charming. Immediately suspecting another UTI, since she’s had two recently although she did not run a temp with them, I had the nurse call the doc to authorize a run to the ER. The doc on call said, essentially, that it would be up to me to decide, but that it was OK with her. Huh????? So I decided. I always decide. I am often considered to be overreacting. However, I rarely am. Because the nurse considered Mom’s trip to the ER to be a non-emergency, she expressed it that way to the paramedics. It took them 1.5 hours to arrive. I thought we’d be going 5 minutes down the road to the hospital she always goes to. It took me the full 1.5 hours to get her dressed and her hair combed. When the EMTs arrived, they said she’d be going to St. Luke’s or no where at all. It’s a 30 minute ride from Mom’s place, but EVERY ER in the KC metro between here and there was shut down to new patients. Overflow crowds all over town. The craziest thing I’d ever witnessed. At least, up until then. Trust me, a lot can happen in four days. Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/28/08 (0) Fallible Comments • Permalink Testing The Wifi From…You Guessed It…The Hospital Don’t know if I can successfully post from beautiful St. Luke’s Hospital on the historic Country Club Plaza in Kansas City or not. If this works, I’ll post more...... Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/28/08 (0) Fallible Comments • Permalink Agents Are Funny People, Too You may have noticed that there has been a veritable dearth of blogging going on here at fallible. If you are a long-time reader, you may also remember that I have referred to a “veritable dearth” of blogging on at least one other occasion in the past seven plus years. It happens, sometimes. And when it does, I love nothing better than to refer to it as exactly what it is: a veritable dearth. Believe me, I will be posting something of substance again soon. Because tons of substantive stuff is going on. Really. Why, just three days ago, Doug and I celebrated our 31st wedding anniversary. Except for, we didn’t celebrate. Actually, we skipped out on Valentine’s Day, too. But we did so happily, and with a vision for a future celebration, not too many days hence, which will more than make up for it. When Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary offered to be my literary agent on Tuesday, February 5, 2008, at 4:30 p.m. Central Time, she said she would not be able to read the rest of my novel (she’d read three chapters) until March 1. So, since that hour, I have spent every waking minute and most of the sleeping ones getting my book in the best shape I can. So that’s my excuse for not blogging much, but what I want to share is one of the first things Rachelle said during our phone call that day. It threw me completely, and until she explained what she meant, I was my typical fallible self. “I want to read that scene,” she said. I knew she’d already read many more scenes from my novel, so I wasn’t sure what to say. “I don’t understand...Which scene?” “The one you say you’ve used to pitch agents, in your blog post called ’An Open Letter To All The Remaining Literary Agents I’ve Not Yet Contacted.’” It’s really bad when you have to ask the woman who might be about to offer you representation what the heck you wrote in your own blog post, but um...I had to ask her. “You indicated that you’ve got exactly one scene written, and you sure aren’t going to go to the trouble of writing more unless someone signs you. I wanna see that scene!” You know what’s crazy about spoofy Open Letters To Literary Agents? It could actually happen, because of the kookiness known as the Internet, that The Agent who ends up representing you READS THAT LETTER. So, if you’re going to write one, make it memorable. And it wouldn’t hurt to write a really good scene, either. Posted by Katy McKenna on 02/22/08 Permalink Page 6 of 77 pages « First < 4 5 6 7 8 > Last »


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Agents Are Funny People, Too

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri