Finishing Dad's Novel was a Family Affair #1

I first met Janet and Steve Bly at a writer's group in 1980. Both of them helped me master the art of writing and publishing. Janet posted a "Finishing Dad's Novel was a Family Affair" in Nine parts. You can read them all and see Janet's photos on On the Bly website. Be sure and scroll down to the first page to read the journey of Janet and her sons. Kat 

My husband, Stephen Bly, hated half-done jobs. But more than that, should I say to him, “You know, some day it might be nice if we did this or that . . .”, the mere mention of something I wanted repaired or built became to him an uncompleted project, something he had to get done now. He couldn’t stand to let a ‘to do’ list lie around more than a day or so. 

In early January 2011 he determined to tackle three big undertakings and finish them by summer: 1) oversee the pruning of more than sixty tall Ponderosa pines in our yard, 2) hire a re-roofing of the house, and 3) complete his contracted 106th novel, Stuart Brannon’s Final Shot.

A few weeks later he played 18 holes of golf. The next day, he could hardly stand for more than a few minutes without sitting, breathing hard. We found out he had pneumonia. His almost 5-year battle with prostate cancer began to take its final toll. The next four months he spent more days in the hospital than out with one complication after another. He passed away on June 9th, 2011.I determined to finish the projects for him. I hired a tree trimmer. I found a roofer.Meanwhile, my sons each said to me, “Let’s get that book done. I want to help.”At the start, I sensed the wisdom and perhaps God’s individual purpose for including our sons in this undertaking. They had their dad’s genes in creativity and wit. Together they’d impart their father’s personality. I couldn’t do it without them. I also discovered the value of their on-the-spot feedback and weekly encouragement.


The contract had been signed, the advance given. I emailed the editor and asked for permission for my sons and me to finish writing the novel and for a deadline extension. 


“I’d like very much to publish Stuart Brannon’s Final Shot as a tribute to Steve,” she instantly wrote back.

She gave us four months, until November 1st. The third project on the list became a family affair.

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Janet Chester Bly has authored 31 nonfiction and fiction books, 19 of which she co-authored with Christy Award winning author, Stephen Bly. Titles include The Hidden West Series, The Carson City Chronicles, Hope Lives Here, and The Heart of a Runaway. Her 3 married sons, Russell, Michael and Aaron, live down the mountain with their families at the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater rivers in Lewiston, Idaho.

Stuart Brannon's Final Shot--A Finished Family Project

The first chapter of Stuart Brannon’s Final Shot by Stephen Bly peaks interest. The prologue mentioned Seaside, Oregon—an interesting setting for the legendary Stuart Brannon—a man that drove cattle all over South America and managed to bring a thousand Mexican beef into the Arizona Territory all by his lonesome.

  

Bly started Brannon’s Final Shot before he died, June 9, 2011. His wife and sons finished the project. They kept the legendary Stuart Brannon in and out of many a fracas, avoiding the dime novel author, Hawthorne Miller and added a bit of romance. I’m sad this is the last of the Brannon series.

Clean Up in Aisle Three-Adventures on the Way to the Altar

Enjoy Guest Blogger: Lori Roeleveld

Once upon a time, I worked as a houseparent in a Christian agency caring for troubled children. There were several houses on the property and each was assigned a different supporting church to attend with our wards.

Unhappily, I found myself worshipping in the stiffest, most solemn congregation on the list of contributing parishes. These were some long-faced, serious, scowling believers, I tell you that! If the gospel is good news, no one had told these brothers and sisters. It was like attending calling hours for Jesus week after week.

In my house were several older teens and three, rambunctious eight-year-old boys. The older teens were as frightened as I was of our fellow worshippers, so they caught on immediately that this was not a place to cause trouble and behaved appropriately but eight-year-old boys have the spiritual gift of squirming.

One Sunday, two of my boys, Eric and Marcus, were plaguing one another throughout the deadly proceedings. I scowled. I pointed fingers. I made the death sign across my throat. All to no avail. Suddenly, just as the ushers presented the collection at the altar, the two took to pummeling one another so hard they rolled out of the pew right into the aisle!

Signs for Teen Bedroom

When our oldest daughter moved into her own bedroom, she grew plants. At one time we counted 43 beautiful plants in her 9 x 12 square foot room. That’s a great accomplishment for a teen, especially keeping them alive.

She babied her plants, watered and fertilized them. That wouldn’t be bad, but her door opened into a hallway and across from the doorway into the kitchen.

That still doesn’t sound bad until you add the two weeks of clothes littering the room, her school work in piles and of course, the smell of the fish oil used on the plants.

Her father and I figured a dirty bedroom didn’t hurt anyone—until the smell permeated the kitchen.

Before we invited guests I hung signs on her door:

Disaster Area

Gas Mask Required Upon Entry 

Hard Hat Area 

Clean it Out Today or Else

Open the Door with Caution

I have no idea what the “or else” might have included because daughter always complied to the signs.

   

Sometimes I do wonder if those signs are what created such a perfectionist. Her house, even when her children were little, was and is, always spotless. 

Wish that daughter lived closer now, she could teach me a few organization skills. My house isn’t bad, but my office—oh my. Wonder if I added house plants if it might "feel" better?

There have been great moments living Life as The Lionhearted Kat. Sometimes I’m like my photo above, eating pizza,

Resting, relaxing and refreshing old relationships.

Other days I making all these new acquaintances—doctors, residents, nurses and other caregivers. I’m not a caregiver anymore and I don’t have a live-in-caregiver with me now, but my heart hurts for those in the caregiving situation. Many times they hide the weariness, but if you catch them alone, they let their guard down.

Receive the Blessings Offered

At the beginning of my breast cancer journey I received a book, “Midnight Meditations: A Journey Through Cancer and the Lessons Learned Along the Way.” By Roger and Debbie Bennett.

Roger journaled his feelings when he couldn’t sleep. His lessons written over a twelve year time period became my encouragement.

One night I picked up “Midnight Meditations.” The book fell open to page 41.

The other night a pastor shared something with me. He was basically at a loss for words, but he did say something that caused me to think. He said, “Roger, God is going to send people to bless you and support you during this valley. It may be financial; it may be just running errands. I want you to remember that you are not in charge all of the time—let people bless you.”

I’m a giver. My parents were givers. My grandparents were givers before them. It’s fun being the giver. Years ago my professor Mrs. G. B. Williamson said, “The Bible says it’s more blessed to give than receive, but without a gracious receiver the giver is robbed of a blessing.” I taught that lesson many times, but until breast cancer and husband’s death, I did not realize the full extent of the meaning.

Its 32 months since I put aside self. More people than I can name blessed my life with their help—my prayer is that God will continue to bless them.

Ready to Work

"Reporting for duty, Mook."

Husband dressed up for many Easter dramas, Bashful the Clown, and even when he signed in for housework duty. He loved an audience. Paddy and I were two that applauded his nonsense the most. 

A few years ago someone gave him three one million dollar bills—fake of course. He offered them to clerks in the grocery stores, asked the bank to change one for smaller bills, and he shared one of those bills with granddaughter Savannah.

Last week Savannah lost her wallet. She texted her mom in a panic. Marcy found the wallet in her car, snapped a photo, texted it to Savannah with a note:

Little girl…I have kidnapped your wallet. You will be contacted with further instructions on where 2 make the million dollar cash drop. I accept only large untraceable bills and remember….no police or no deal.

Imagine Marcy’s surprise when later that night Savannah whipped out her million dollar bill to pay for her wallet.

Life is what we make it.

Savannah and her mom chuckled at the memories of Grandpa and his million dollar bill.

The photo of a great Saturday morning salute brought me chuckles. Husband thought himself really cute. I must have thought him cute, too. I snapped the picture.