Wright Words: The Cameron Birch Christmas Jar Story

My latest syndicated column. Enjoy!

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Wright Words: The Cameron Birch Christmas Jar Story

I am often asked, “who received the very first Christmas Jar?” While that’s impossible to know with complete certainty, I have always believed the first jar was received by perhaps the most worthy recipient ever. His name is Cameron Birch, and to commemorate this month’s release of Christmas Jars Reunion, the sequel to Christmas Jars, I thought a gentle reminder of where it began and why it matters four years later would be the perfect way to celebrate the arrival of colored leaves, crisp nights, and mysterious jars of change.

Cameron is a unique young man with a mission as inspiring as any you will ever hear. This is his story.

(As told by his father, Matt Birch, in December of 2005.)

_____


A little more than two years ago I was just a husband and father, enjoying my three amazing sons and beautiful wife. Cameron was four and like his older brothers, Braden and Tyson, had endless energy and personality and couldn't wait for the next big adventure. No one could have predicted the next adventure life had planned for him.

We embarked on that adventure January 9th, 2005 when we took Cameron to the emergency room after an unusually long bout with what we thought was a virus, or another average childhood ailment. Over the course of a month, spanning the Christmas holidays, his appetite left him and he began to lose weight. Every morning brought a severe headache and vomiting. He was actually excited to go to the hospital so the doctors could give him "good medicine to make my headaches go away," he said.

We all felt that way until a serious-looking doctor told us they found the reason Cameron was having headaches. "It's bad, very bad," he quietly whispered to us.

Six hours later we stood watching helplessly as Cameron was wheeled into surgery to have a malignant tumor the size of a golf ball removed from his brain. What was supposed to be nothing more than a quick trip to the hospital turned into a two week stay. It was the first of many more to come.

My wife and I struggled to understand what was happening. It seemed surreal, as if life were simultaneously going in slow motion and at the speed of light. We worried about how to make a four-year-old understand something we hadn't yet grasped. We didn't have to. He never asked any questions like, "Why me?" He never complained. The closest he ever came to complaining was during a particularly difficult day when he said, "Dad, this cancer stuff stinks."

He suffered through six weeks of radiation and months and months of chemotherapy. The radiation was the hardest part for him. He was fed through a tube and continued to throw up 20 to 30 times a day. He couldn't eat, play with his friends, or do many of the things most of us take for granted. What he did do was smile, laugh, and inspire everyone who met him.

One day, during a discussion with his aunt, he declared, "My mission in life is to beat cancer." He fulfilled that mission with everything he had. His little body may have suffered in the battle, but cancer never stood a chance against his faith, smile, laugh, attitude, and spirit. He totally and completely forgot about himself and worried about other cancer patients.

He would say, "It hurts my heart" to see other cancer patients because he knew they didn't feel well. When he was first diagnosed, he began praying for the other children with cancer. In every prayer, without fail, he would ask, "Please help all the other kids kill their cancer." He rarely prayed for himself. He was more concerned for the other kids.

His efforts went beyond prayer, too. He acted on his mission to beat cancer. In July of 2005 he asked for help setting up a fundraiser for the "other kids." He set up "Cam's Stand For Kids With Cancer," a stand along the parade route of the largest parade in Utah. He sold drinks, ice cream, and candy, raising hundreds of dollars. He took every penny of it and with his brothers personally made "Build-a-Bears" for each of the brain tumor patients at Primary Children's Hospital. Here was a four-year-old boy with hundreds of dollars and not once did he ask if he could have some of it for himself. The only question he asked was, "When can we go give the kids their bears"?

For 11 months everything was going perfectly with his treatments. There was no sign of cancer anywhere. His health was good and he was even able to get out and enjoy his friends. We were starting to plan a neighborhood party to celebrate the end of his treatments, and were looking forward to our family's trip to Disney World through the Make-a-Wish Foundation. We believed he was one of the lucky few.

We never made it to Disney World. November of 2005 brought another discovery that turned our world upside down, again. During a routine MRI, they discovered the cancer had returned. It had come back with a vengeance and now coated his spine with a layer of cancerous cells and spread up into his brain. In a cruel irony, the original tumor location was still completely cancer free. Options for his treatments were very limited at this point. The doctors thought he would make it until Christmas, but they couldn't guarantee anything.

The day after his re-diagnosis, I was home alone with Cameron. Cameron didn't know his cancer had returned yet. I was curious to know how he would take the news. Throughout the treatments we had always talked to him about how it was possible for the cancer to come back, but never dwelt on that possibility. I asked him, "So buddy what would you do if your cancer came back?" Without hesitation he answered, "That would be OK, we would just start over and do it all again." So we started over.

Shortly before Christmas the new treatments began, and Cameron had another idea that he wouldn't let go of. He wanted to give something else to the kids suffering with cancer. He thought about it and talked about it with us. He wanted very much to buy some toys for the cancer patient's playroom in the hospital. He loved to play with the toys and puzzles when he went in for his treatments. The playroom was one of the only places the children could go to escape the pain and worries associated with the rest of the hospital. He talked to the nurses and social workers to find out which toys were needed the most. He was very excited to go and buy them for the kids.

Unfortunately, the cancer got ahead of Cameron's plans. He often spoke of going to the store to buy the toys but his little body had begun to shut down. He struggled to walk, his appetite was gone, and he was suffering from double vision making it difficult for him to watch his favorite movies or play video games. Cancer was slowly robbing him of all of his favorite things and robbing us of our little boy.

Late one night just before Christmas, a knock at the door changed our family forever. The kids rushed from the family room and threw open the door to find nothing but the cold December night. In place of a visitor, there were two large jars sitting on our porch. Each was labeled in bright letters, "Christmas Jar." Attached to one of them was a copy of the book Christmas Jars and a note. The note explained how the anonymous giver had read this book and how it had changed his life. My oldest two sons each brought a jar inside and excitedly unscrewed the lids. One jar was filled with pennies. The other was filled with other change and some paper money.

I had just read the book and so I retold the story as well as I could. We talked about what it means to give unselfishly to others. We tried to figure out what generous person might have left the jars. Cameron was very excited that someone would do that for him and his family. He understood we got the jars because he had cancer. A light that had been dimmed by illness burned a little brighter in Cameron's eyes that night. This simple act of giving stopped - for just one night - the steady march of a terrible disease.

The next morning, Cameron commenced with the counting. He got down on the floor and counted each penny one by one. When all the money had been carefully counted, the total was more than $300. Then Cameron said something that captured his true spirit, "Why do people want to help me so much?" he asked.

"Well, because people love you and they feel badly that you are sick so they want to help," I replied.

"But dad, I can do this all by myself," he calmly answered.

Cameron decided at that moment to take the money from the Christmas Jars and use it to buy the toys for the hospital's playroom.

Cameron was never well enough to go to the store and buy the toys himself. Three weeks after Christmas he suffered a severe seizure that sent him to the hospital for another stay in the ICU, much of it on life support. After two weeks, we were finally able to take him home where he spent his final ten days on this earth surrounded by family and friends. Even as his body lay in his bed losing its battle to cancer, physically unable to speak, he continued his life's mission of beating cancer.

Everyone who visited Cameron left with a new resolve to live life as the gift that it is. Resolved to never take things for granted. Resolved to face each challenge with a smile. Resolved to always remember, no matter what setbacks come in life to say, "That's OK, we can just start over and do it all again."

A month after his death we were finally able to take the money from the Christmas Jars and buy the toys for the hospital. Right now there are children playing with new toys at the hospital because of the spirit of one little five-year-old boy, and an anonymous giver who understands the true meaning of Christmas and giving.

Recently, I was reminded of this when I spoke with the father of a little girl Cameron befriended while they were undergoing chemotherapy. On a recent trip to the hospital she went to the playroom because she wanted to play with a tool bench Cameron donated.

She was very disappointed when it wasn't there. "Where is the tool bench," she inquired of a nurse. The nurse told her how a little boy who was too sick to leave his room had asked for the tool bench to be brought to his room so he could play with it because it was his favorite toy. I knew that Cameron had a smile on his face as, even in death, he continues to "beat cancer."

This little boy is the reason Cameron did what he did. That is the reason someone gave my family a Christmas Jar. That is the magic of the human spirit and the magic of what one jar can do. My family thinks of Cameron every time we put a coin in this year's Christmas Jar. We can't wait to give it to someone special for Christmas and watch as the miracle spreads even further.

_____


(Cameron passed away six weeks after spreading the spirit of the Christmas Jar by using the funds from his own jar to bless the lives of other children. His family continues to fill and give away jars each year in his honor.)

And the winner is?

The total in the office Christmas Jar is $82.16. Unless my math is wrong, which is very likely, it looks like Glen A. Jones is the winner. Congrats Glen! Drop me a note with your address and I'll get your free copy of Penny's Christmas Jar Miracle in the mail.

Win a free copy of Penny's Christmas Jar Miracle

The new book is in! And thanks to the brilliant work of illustrator Ben Sowards, it's GORGEOUS.

Want to win literally one of the very first copies off the press and shipped?

Here is a picture of the Christmas Jar that sits on a bookshelf in my office. It's not the family jar, it's for me and my occasional office guests to drop our change in.

Guess how much is in the jar in the comments below. Closest to the actual total (yes, I counted!) will win a signed copy of Penny's Christmas Jar Miracle weeks before you can buy it! You can count on one hand the number of people outside my publisher's building that have seen this brand spankin' new book.

HINT: There are no bills. The jar contains only Quarters, Dimes, Nickels and Pennies.

Closest to the actual total by Saturday evening wins the book.

You may change your guess at any point, but you must delete your previous guesses.

Good luck!

Do you have a star on this map?

Make a Wish

Very good friends of my family know that my nephew, Wil, has just left for his two-year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After a two-month stint at a training center where he'll be learning Spanish, among other things, Wil heads off for areas in El Salvador, San Salvador West and Belize.

My oldest brother Sterling, Wil's father, wrote these words in the final days before Wil's departure last week. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Make a Wish
Sterling Wright

“Good point. Hey, look, it’s 11:11. Make a wish!”

I don’t know which of my children introduced the practice of wishing when the clock showed all ones. Like wishing on a star or over a burning birthday cake, the clock wish has been a harmless habit in my household for many years.

At this particular 11:11, my son Wil and I were leaving the parking lot of Lowe’s, the back of the minivan filled with materials we needed to get his room ready for its next occupant. The combination of a beautiful day, a minivan, and Lowe’s turned my mind back to the first time Wil and I were in this parking lot. It was a sunny day in March, 1990. I was an exhausted father who needed to stop for a box of nails. Wil was a quiet newborn taking one of his first rides in the van.

He was so new and quiet and I was so tired that I forgot he was with me. Only when I looked in the mirror after getting back in the van did I remember – with more than a little shock – that I had the baby that morning. He looked at me without judgment or complaint. He was simply waiting for me to tell him what I bought.

When he was six or so, Lowe’s expanded from an over-sized hardware store to the man-malls that we know today. It wasn’t too far from the church so we went window-shopping while my oldest was at Mutual. The store had only been open for a couple of days and it had that new store smell. It took over an hour to visit every aisle. Wil wanted to know what everything was and how it worked.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that we have made hundreds of trips to Lowe’s together. Wil still wants to know what things are, how they work, and what they are used for. The big difference is that I can no longer get away with vague or fabricated answers. “It makes water better to drink” doesn’t cut it any more.

There were no questions today, just two men getting the job done. As I got ready to pull out of the parking space, Wil said, “I just realized that this might be the last time we go to Lowe’s together before I leave.”

By the time anyone reads this, my only son will be in the Mission Training Center getting ready to go to El Salvador. Those of you who have sent missionaries into the field know how the date creeps up on you. It is down the last aisle of the store by the drywall and lumber. Then suddenly it’s right in front of you. Then you are driving home from Lowe’s alone.

I turned to grin at him and we shared a realization based on my home improvement track record. I gave it voice. “Son, this might not be the last time you come to Lowe’s with me today."

“Good point. Hey, look, it’s 11:11. Make a wish!”

I wish you were six again.

The world is full of amazing people, like this one

You may have seen this email that went out earlier today regarding my Christmas Jars survey.

Shortly after the e-mail was sent, I received this note. What a sweet reminder that the world is full of some amazing people. This is one of them. This person did all of this on their own with no help from me or my publisher. And obviously they're not done yet!

(name withheld)

"After I read the Christmas Jars Reunion advance copy I had a very unusual experience."

"I closed the computer and paced around the kitchen just kind of listening.  Had a
really weird feeling. I ignored it for days even though it was keeping me up at night and waking me up in the middle of the night.  I've never really had that experience where I thought I heard God speaking to me.  So....wasn't really sure what was happening.  I told my mom and she said, Dear, you have to listen when that happens. So I did..."

"I emailed my family and asked them to help me find 1,000 people to fill empty jars. I didn't want the jars back, I just wanted to introduce 1,000 people to the tradition and have them experience what it was like to do a jar.  Of course, it's May and we don't have much time, they thought I was crazy but agreed to help me.  I've had so much going on around here and several times decided I couldn't do it but then some other sign would show up and that voice would get a little louder and I would continue."

"Long story short, as of today, we have given away, 500 empty jars and I have all the names and locations written in a little book. Those jars are located in:

Indiana
Ohio
Arizona
Wisconsin
Illinois
Virginia
Kentucky
Texas
North Carolina
South Carolina
Massachusetts
Georgia
Missouri
Florida
New York
Michigan
California
Washington (state)
Hawaii
New Jersey
Connecticut
Oklahoma
Pennsylvania

Canada
England
Taiwan
Ukraine
Italy

Not done yet!"

Jason's Cheesy Web Videos - Episode #15

Winners!

In case you missed it on Facebook or Twitter, the winners in the free book contest were Shawn Neagle and Molly Edwards. Congrats!

Win a limited edition advance copy of Christmas Jars Reunion

I've been thinking for weeks how I wanted to give away a copy of CJR. Then like a bolt of lightening, or bad pizza, it hit me! So there are two ways you can win:

1. "Follow" me on Twitter at http://twitter.com/jasonfwright and I will randomly pick one "follower" and mail them an ARC.

2. Send a picture of you (family, pet, whatever) posing with, holding up, tossing in the ocean, setting flame to, admiring or ripping up any one of my previous books. Tag me in it (on Facebook) and I'll let my kids pick the most creative picture. Be creative! Winner gets an ARC.

Deadline for both will be Monday, August 10th. Winner announced Monday night or Tuesday morning.

Good luck! You could have an advance copy of the new novel within a week!

Sneak peek of Christmas Jars Reunion now available

You've begged, you've prodded, you've sent threatening mail. OK, maybe that was just my mother. Nevertheless, I'm pleased to make available a sneak peek of Christmas Jars Reunion.

Click here to read now.

Hope you enjoy!

Checking in from the 11th floor

A moment of silence, please: Vacation is officially over.

I dropped the rest of the gang off at the airport for a flight back to Virginia and I checked into a downtown hotel. I do enjoy the quiet and it's certainly conducive to working long hours on a manuscript, but I sure miss the havoc in my mother-law's basement and listening to my loving, kind and patient children "interact".

One daughter opened a handmade greeting card store at the table and forcefully recruited her brother as an employee. The other daughter took special orders for Zoob creations while the baby bounced for hours on an exercise trampoline signing Hannah Montana.

Yes, I miss them all terribly. Maybe I'll order room service? That will make me feel better!

So what's next? I will spend the next several days editing The Cross Gardener. Here's what the process looks like:

1. Submit a first draft to both my agent and editor at Penguin. (DONE)

2. Wait anxiously for feedback. (DONE)

3. Toss and turn. (DONE)

4. Make sure my email and cell phone are working properly when I haven't heard anything right away. (DONE)

5. Toss and turn some more. (DONE)

6. Get first response from agent. (This is typical, her feedback isn't nearly as detailed as an editor's.) (DONE)

7. Receive my editorial letter! It's a little old-school, but it's how many editors still prefer to work. A week after submitting my draft, and with no communication during the meantime, I received an 8-page letter opening with her general "big picture" reaction. Then it goes to what she loved, what she didn't, and chapter-by-chapter feedback. Most of the suggestions are up to me whether or not to implement. Some will take minutes to change, others will take hours. The overall feeling is great. They loved it and want to make it even better. What a coincidence, so do I! (DONE)

8. Editing begins. I have 2-3 weeks to make my changes and submit a new draft. In reality, the finished product will look very similar to what they've already read. Fortunately no major, structural changes were requested. Because I've been on vacation with little or no time to edit, I'm down to less than a week to make my edits. Worry? Who, me?

9. By August 3 I'll submit a new draft which will be read by a wider universe at Penguin. Thus far only my editor and her boss have read it. The next draft will be distributed to quite a few readers, including the head-honcho-publisher.

10. All comments will be filtered by my editor and reported back to me within a few days. Hopefully the second round of changes, if any, are very minor. I'll submit my final draft asap.

And there you have it! The book will go to press for Advance Reading Copies sometime in mid-August and by September 1 their sales team will be pitching the book to the media, book buyers, wholesalers, etc. They'll have six months to get the book properly buzzed and ready for hardcover release, and they'll use every minute of it!

Then what? I'll begin the second manuscript of my two-book deal and submit it by Thanksgiving. Whew! I need a vacation :)

Wright Words: Second Chances and Recovering Charles

Wright Words: Second Chances and Recovering Charles

One year ago I was locked in a hotel room in my hometown of Woodstock, Virginia writing round-the-clock to finish my most recent novel, Recovering Charles.

The book is set in New Orleans just as Hurricane Katrina hits. It’s about a man whose estranged father, who had been living in New Orleans, goes missing after the storm. Luke hadn’t spoken to his father for nearly two years. He and Charles quit speaking to each other after Charles made one too many bad decisions.

Luke finally decides to make his way to the beaten city and there tries to find his father or, at least, find out what happened to him. Not only does Luke not know where his father is, he doesn’t know for sure what his father has become.

Luke is searching for the man named Charles who always needed money or some other favor, but he might also be looking for the loving father that left him years before. Charles stopped being that father when he gave in to his demons.

Luke gave up on Charles and Charles stopped bothering Luke.

All but the very best of us hold grudges. We righteously banish ex-spouses, estranged family members, friends who betray us, and other unpleasant people to an exile enforced by averted eyes and caller-ID. As long as we tell ourselves that – one day – we will make things right, we can justify our behavior as punishment for what we have suffered.

In the book, the possibility that Charles might be dead shakes Luke’s self-righteousness. Without an “I’m sorry, son” there could be no “I forgive you, Dad.” Luke begins to believe that Charles was looking for a second chance. Luke’s search for his father takes on new urgency as he realizes that he might just want to give him one.

So, who deserves a second chance? Where is the threshold of forgiveness? When one of my kids does something wrong, I’m quick to explain that they can make it right and get a clean slate. Children surely deserve second chances as they learn about consequences.

What about a cheating spouse? An abusive father? A vindictive lawyer? The drunk driver who kills a loved one? Do any of them deserve a second chance?

I know someone on the receiving end of each of those situations. And in each case, they forgave. None of the offenses could be undone but the bitterness and hatred dissolved once the offended decided to offer a second chance.

I also know people who proudly lug around grudges collected over a lifetime. When they let one go, it is often just to make room for another. They are slow to give out second chances because they know it means they have to give up one of their precious grudges.

When I started writing Recovering Charles, I didn’t know exactly how it would end. But Luke led me through the story and dictated its conclusion.

I learned a lot about myself as “what does he do next” began to reflect “what would I do”.

I’m still not sure that Luke and I are all that similar but I do know that I’ve learned to believe in second chances. I plan to give as many as I can.

I sure hope to get a few, too.

Wright Words: Spic and Span Fiction

My latest syndicated column. Enjoy!

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Wright Words: Spic and Span Fiction

When I'm not writing, I'm often reading. There are so many incredibly talented authors out there that I consider the local Barnes and Noble to be a writer's university. New ideas about composition, character development, point of view, and the other aspects of telling a good story occur to me while reading someone else's good work.

I never deliberately copy another writer's style or incorporate elements of a novel I read into a novel I write. I just expect that what I read and what I write will sort of mix in my subconscious and give me a richer palette the next time I set out to paint a story.

Lately, some of what I've been reading has taught me something that I have resolved not to do. Ever.

Mark the date and save this text. I will never use foul, crude, disgusting language or create explicit images of sex or graphic violence.

That statement probably doesn't surprise people who know me personally or even just know a lot about me. I was raised in a family and culture where purity of thought, speech, and action are moral issues. Here is a surprise for you, though. My values and beliefs are part of the reason I won't write from the gutter but the main reason is something much more worldly.

I want people to buy my books. I want them to read one and then go out and buy all of the other ones. I want them to tell all of their friends about the great new writer they discovered.

The question I have asked and answered is this: who is more likely to be offended, the reader who has to wade through prose that she finds offensive or the one who is disappointed that the book doesn't include a good sex scene?

For hundreds of years, authors found ways to write about every aspect of life. Any fundamental conflict, tense or romantic situation, or other intense scene that a modern writer describes with crude language has a similar version written with clean, carefully chosen words.

My first novel, The James Miracle , includes a horrible car accident, several heated arguments and tense family scenes.

Christmas Jars is about an abandoned baby who grows up to lose the woman who raised her. She is robbed, cheated, betrayed, and suffers another terrible personal loss.

The siblings in The Wednesday Letters argue and reconcile and deal with the death of their parents without saying anything much cruder than “Shut up”. The book includes other intense scenes and physical confrontations that might have been “easier” to describe had I used vulgarity.

The most recent novel, Recovering Charles , manages - with polite language - to describe three romantic relationships, several arguments, and the death and destruction that Katrina inflicted on New Orleans .

There is obviously a market for R-rated books and I have nothing against those who write them. But this writer hopes to make a living sticking with PG material. I trust my readers to use my words to build mental images that they find appropriate. I'm certainly not the only “clean” writer in the industry, but, if I were, that would be OK with me.

What do you think? Am I a prude pushing my standards on my readers? Have you ever put down a book because it was too vulgar? Too clean? Let me know by leaving a comment below.

Coming up for air

So the rush to my July 1 deadline continues. It's going to be very, very close. But considering the big cheese of all big cheeses at my new publisher emailed me yesterday and reminded me not to be late, I have a feeling I'll find a way to make the deadline. Even if it means checking into a hotel again.

I did, however, want to quickly mention two things before disappearing.

1. The cover for The Cross Gardener (ta da!) was approved last night. It's still mind boggling to me that decisions like this are made so far in advance. The book, still being written of course, has a cover, marketing copy, a summary, and a release date. March 2, 2010. Now that's planning!

The cover may seem a tad plain at first glance because it's always hard to envision the special effects. But my name and the title will be embossed in gold. As will the border, of course. Also, the fence in the middle will be embossed and shiny. Very cool! The sales and marketing people are all aflutter.

2. On a totally unrelated note, my wife's fledgling photography biz now has a web site. It's going live this week. Check it out!

Back I go into seclusion...

Update from the mountains of West Virginia

Greetings from the sticks! Despite the Great Laptop Disaster of March 2009, I'm back at the secluded cabin in WV for a few days of heavy duty writing. Right now you're wondering, didn't that guy just finish a book?

Technically yes. A few weeks ago I finished my last book (for now) with Shadow Mountain. They've been wonderful to me and I'll always owe them for giving my career wings. Simply put: I wouldn't be a full-time writer without their faith and dedication to the stories I've wanted to tell. I look forward to publishing certain titles with them again soon.

But in the meantime, new challenged await! I've recently agreed to publish my next two novels with the powerhouse of publishing, Penguin. That is, of course, the good news.

The bad news? They want to launch my first ever spring book next year, which means I have to deliver my next manuscript (much longer than Christmas Jars Reunion) on July 1st. Yikes!

The new book will be called The Cross Gardener and, believe it or not, we already have a release date: March 2, 2010. Just 274 days away!

And that, my friends, explains why I drove to the mountains of West Virginia to once again lock myself away and write until my fingers bleed. I'm very excited about the story and message of the new book, but it won't be easy.

Because I'm going to be totally consumed for the next month, I'm going to disappear from Facebook completely and, with the exception of urgent matters, from e-mail as well. As my sweet wife told me this morning, "Time to go to work, honey."

Thanks to all of you for being so supportive. I'm eternally grateful to you for giving my stories life by reading the books and embracing the messages.

Before saying goodbye for now, you might enjoy the latest episode of Jason's Cheesy Web Videos, shot in NYC at Book Expo yesterday. As usual, it's not great film making, but it might interest you if you've always wondered what the biggest book convention in the world looks like.



A final note, I've been having problems with my Facebook account lately (who hasn't, right?) so I will probably close it and start over. Please join my fan page if you haven't already by clicking here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/pages/Jason-Wright/23765971605

Off we go!

Covers released for the two fall books

It's not even June yet, but already my Christmas Jars publisher is releasing the covers for my two fall titles. (Christmas Jars Reunion and Penny's Christmas Jar Miracle)

It seems early, doesn't it? Believe it or not, the marketing and buzz-building for Christmas titles has been in full swing for over a month now. Posters, bookmarks, fliers, etc. are all being printed and distributed to bookstores and distributors all over the country. It definitely take a village to write, edit, promote and sell a book...

A bigantuan shout-out to Ben Sowards, uber-gifted illustrator of the children's book. He's what every artist should want to be when they grow up. Also a ginormiant thanks to Sheryl Dickert Smith, graphic designer extraordinaire of CJ, WL, RC, and now CJR.

You two crazy kids are amazingly talented!

We have a winner!

Win a fictional steakhouse

Haven't you always wanted to own your very own restaurant bearing your very own name? Now's your chance.

All you have to do is e-mail a minimum of ten friends, introduce them to my books, invite them to join my e-mail list, or ask them to buy an autographed copy of Recovering Charles, or tell them what you think of my hair, whatever trips your trigger...

Then come back here and post a comment below that says "Mission Accomplished!" along with your name. (We're going on the honor system here, people!)

I'll pick a winner at random on May 1st from among everyone who participates, and that person (wild animals, vegetables, minerals and Kim are ineligible) will name a steakhouse that appears in my new novel, A Christmas Jars Reunion, coming this fall.

Got it?

1. Tell ten friends.

2. Come back to the blog and tell me "Mission Accomplished".

3. Wait for good news on May 1st.

4. You could own a fictional steakhouse. Tasty!

Weekend with the Wrights Wrap-up

Kim and Pete's Excellent Adventure has come to a close. Did we kill each other? Did we get along? Did we become BFF's?

We'll let the video do the talking:

Wright Words: Pass the Grace, Please

Recently I was asked to write a column from time-to-time. After much hemming and hawing I finally agreed. Columns will appear here and on several other websites around the web. Below is my first. Hope you enjoy!

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Wright Words: Pass the Grace, Please

Sunday morning. 9:17 AM. I'm 30 miles from home and racing to a chapel I'm unfamiliar with for a ward conference. A work zone approaches and out of the corner of my tired eye, I see a town police officer sitting behind some bushes holding what I hope is a sophisticated high-tech water gun.

It wasn't.

Did I receive a traffic ticket? Yes. Was it of the speeding variety? Yes. Did Officer Fife care that I was dressed in a suit and obviously racing to the aid of my beloved brothers and sisters in need? Not so much.

But that didn't stop me from asking for grace.

A few weeks later I put the same suit back on and appeared in an historic courthouse just a country mile from the scene of my crime. After watching half-a-dozen other hardened traffic criminals make their pleas for leniency, I was convinced my excuses were…well…better.

In fact, my entire strategy was can't-miss. I took my place at the defendant's table when summoned and prepped to make my case for grace.

“How do you plead?” The Judge asked.

“Your Honor, can I plead ‘guilty' to speeding, but ‘not guilty' to the severity of the speeding?”

His mouth said, “Excuse me?” But his face said, “Whatchoo talkin' ‘bout Willis?”

I explained how I'd been late for church in an area I'm unfamiliar with. I told him how careful I'd been that morning on the way to court, driving the exact speed limit through the same trap to gauge average MPH, and how I'd been blown off the road by a school bus and a man I judged too old to even hold a license. I even made a premeditated, well-rehearsed joke that five others in the courtroom thought was rather funny. Unfortunately for me, none of them were wearing black robes and grandpa glasses.

My appearance that day ended without the grace I so desperately sought, but with a pit stop at the court clerk's office to pay a hefty fine.

As I drove home that day—very slowly—I pondered my life's near-constant quest for grace. It seems I'm always asking others to grant it, but am I so quick to pass it on myself?

Perhaps you've sometimes fallen into the same trap.

Ever been late on a credit card payment and gotten the dreaded phone call? Without fail we seem to respond with the same universal line: “Grace, please?”

We're late returning a movie, a library book or a rental car: “Grace, please?”

Who hasn't missed a turn, an exit, or rolled through a stop sign and impeded the path of another car, only to fire off an apologetic wave of the hand and a sheepish grin. The grin itself is pleasant and quiet, but if it could it would scream through the car window, “Hey buddy! A little grace, eh? I'm in a hurry/lost/from-out-of-town/my-wife-is-pregnant/fill-in-the-blank.”

Or maybe like me you've missed a deadline for a project at work, a homework assignment or a new manuscript: What's the refrain? “Grace, please?”

It's part of life. It's who we are. It's how the plan of happiness was designed. It is that word, “grace”, that allows us to embrace repentance, change our minds and choices, and taste life's sweet second chances.

Why then when my children make a mistake, despite the fact that I made the same missteps at their age, am I often too slow to extend grace? Especially since heaven and the neighbors know I'm asking for it myself when the sun on trash day rises and sets with the cans still sitting at the side of the house—full.

Mrs. Wright has heard it before: "I'm sorry dear, it won't happen again. A little grace, please?" Fortunately for me, my wife isn't nearly as slow to pass the grace as I am.

Yes, we all want grace. Leniency. A fresh shot. An opportunity to forgive and forget, right? Except in my case it's more like, “You do the forgiving, I'll do the forgetting, thank you very much.”

How about you?

I wish I could promise that my expensive trip to ward conference—the talks were lovely, by the way—had changed my understanding of grace forever and I'm a better man for it. Nah. But I do think I'm trying just little harder to pass the grace more quickly and more often. Maybe we all could.

Because we can't expect everyone to pass it to us if we're not willing to pass it back, can we?