But As For Me (I Choose Love)

As for me, I’ve spoken.

As for me, I’ve tried.

But as for me, I’m broken. 

As for me, I’m tired.
As for me, I sometimes worry

If I’ve really done enough

If I’ve really said all I could say

To show the world my Love
The world is mostly only broken

Their hearts feel mostly pain

But as for me I’m filled with hope

That Love will rise again 
As for me, I’ll stand upon this truth:

That Love’s the only way

To see this broken world find peace

And refuge from her pain
As for me, I’m choosing hope

For me, I will believe

That if I live my life to Love

That hearts will find reprieve
When all the pain is swirling fast

When events just don’t make sense
I choose to believe I’m not too small 
To make a difference
I will not choose to look away
To turn blind-eyes to pain

Instead I’ll choose to look for Love

And pray you’ll do the same
At times I feel I can’t do much

When the world seems so messed up

But as for me, I choose to Love

And believe that that’s enough


When You Suddenly Aren’t What You Have Always Been

leadingWhen I was in high school I had a very good understanding of what I wanted to be “when I grew up.” I had been volunteering on my church’s worship team since I was 14, and was being mentored by a woman whose life I wanted mine to look like–she was a mom to two little boys and she was the worship leader at her local church part-time. From a very young age, I basically decided that I wanted to be just like her.

I don’t remember ever having lofty goals for myself–at least not in the sense of what others usually deemed “lofty.” I don’t ever remember having any desire to be well-known, or to write books, or to make albums, or to lead worship for tens of thousands of people. I don’t think that I really even ever planned on having a “career” of any kind, outside of wanting to lead worship part-time while raising my children.

All of this seems weird, looking back, since I was such an overachiever in high school. I remember that I was chosen as “Most Likely to Become President” by my classmates one year in high school, and I markedly remember being so confused as to why my classmates thought of me in that sort of way–because I LITERALLY knew nothing about politics or government. I graduated with above a 4.0 average, worked WAY too hard and took “gifted” and “advanced placement” classes, and was even chosen as student of the year my senior year–and I honestly don’t even know why I did all of it. Because, if my memory serves me correctly, I don’t think that I even wanted to go to college.

All I wanted was to be a wife, and a mother, and I wanted to lead worship part-time at a local church where I could help usher people into the Lord’s presence every week. That was my life goal.

I got my first “real” job at the age of 16 in the insurance industry, and found favor with my boss who hired me as a full-time employee when I turned 18–doing a job that I honestly didn’t deserve to do without a college degree. In high school, I fell in love with a man that was conveniently 5 years older than me–just graduating college– and I married him at age 18. I got my first worship leading “job” about a year into our marriage, and worked two jobs for a few years. The plan was always that when we decided to have kids, I would become a full-time mom with a part-time worship-leading job. A few months before I delivered our first children (twins)–about 3 years into our marriage–I quit my day job.

I was officially living my life-long dream.

Somewhere along the line, I felt like the Lord gave me an important story that He wanted me to tell, and I wrote my first book. Shortly after I published my book, I felt like the Lord was calling me away from the church where I was working, and was calling our family to look for a church where we could go as a family–where I wouldn’t be on staff. It was time to get out of professional ministry for a while, or so I started to think. I started to wonder if I had really been called to lead worship, or if I was supposed to focus on writing as my “calling.”

Backing up a bit, about a year before I decided to leave the church that I was working for, I had auditioned at another local church for their worship leader position– I had gotten into the top two applicants, and I absolutely fell in love with the worship team and the church in general. I had received all wonderful feedback from the staff, and I honestly felt that the Lord was doing something–that He wanted me at this church. I was almost certain that I was going to get the job. I even felt my heart disconnect from my current church in a tangible way that I couldn’t understand. When I didn’t get the job, I was confused, and always wondered why God had tied my heart to this church so deeply if He didn’t want me to work there.

I found out from the pastor the name of the person that did get the job, and we became internet friends. I felt no hard feelings toward anyone–saw what a great leader this person was, and how much more experience he had than I did. It was obvious why he had been chosen. About 6 months later, I noticed that his worship website was hosting a worship leader conference at the church where we had auditioned, and that they were giving away a scholarship to the conference to one winner–and to enter the contest, you simply had to have people “nominate” you for the scholarship.

I posted on Facebook about the contest and simply asked my friends to nominate me for the scholarship. I thought that it would be a good way for me to have some time to sort out what God really thought about me continuing to lead worship–in whatever capacity I might do so in the future. Within an hour of posting this on Facebook, I received an e-mail from the leader saying that someone had paid my way into the conference. (I found out later that more than one person had offered to pay for my entry into the conference) I was completely shocked, and felt like, obviously, God was working here. I went to the conference, and was refreshed again, and clearly heard God saying that worship leading was a huge part of my calling. Again, I felt a strange connection to the church and the staff there, and remember commenting on this to my husband.

Over the next couple of months it became clear that it was time to leave my old church. So, my husband and I stepped out in faith and decided that if God wanted me to be in ministry somewhere, He would provide, and I put in my two weeks notice at my church.

I remember that told my husband that I wanted to visit that church first. The same church that had rejected me for a job a year earlier.

Two days after I put in my two weeks notice, I saw that my friend (the worship leader from this church) posted on Facebook that he had gotten an awesome job offer somewhere else, and he was moving. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t automatically think “Whoa. That’s such weird timing” and started dreaming. Less than 24 hours later I got a call from the pastor at this church, and was asked to come in ASAP to audition again. I came in, fell in love with them all again, but this time it was different. This time, I got the job!

Everyone was blown away by the timing of it all, and we all believed that it was the Lord’s hand that had orchestrated it all
I started a few weeks later, and my heart had never felt more alive. I loved this church so much. The Holy Spirit was moving in HUGE ways. I was writing more music than I ever had before. I was with a team of musicians that I loved dearly, and they loved me too. We were making beautiful music together. We were beautifying the stage together, and volunteers were coming out of the woodwork to help us go deeper in worship. I was FINALLY in my element. Our family got settled in and my husband and I started making great friends. We felt like we were a part of a community–together. For the first time as a family. I felt my heart come alive in a way that I had never even known that it could.

I was now, certainly, living my dream. I was doing what God had always called me to do. I was home.

And, in an instant, everything changed. I won’t go into details, because they truly aren’t important. What is important is that the Lord gave me this amazing job that I loved, He let me work there for about 8 months, and then about 5 months ago–in one moment– He took it away.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

It has been a difficult few months for me with God. Trying to sort out why He would so clearly guide me to this church, rekindle my passion for leading worship, and then so suddenly and violently rip it away from me–all after I had been so ready to let it all go just a few months earlier. It just felt so “mean” to me.

A few years after I became a Christian, I experienced an “identity crisis.” I didn’t know WHO I was to Jesus. I didn’t know what I was worth. I couldn’t see past my own weakness to the fact that Jesus loved me even in my weakness, and even when I was still a vile, wretched sinner, He thought that I was worth dying for.

And I know that this isn’t how it works for everyone, but one day, in the blink of an eye–through the Holy Spirit–the lightbulb just went on for me. Even in my weakness, I was loved. I was cherished. I was valuable beyond any price tag. I was worth His life. I was His, and He was mine. I didn’t need any other title. I didn’t need anything else to be me. I knew who I was, because I knew who He said I was. And that was enough.

And even in the midst of this personal “valley of the shadow” that I felt that I was walking, I can honestly say that I never lost sight of WHO I was. Taking away my title–my job, my dreams–did nothing to affect my value, or my confidence in Christ. I never felt like the last few months have been a questioning of “Who am I?” but a questioning of “what am I?”

I don’t really know why I’m writing this. I guess I just want to say that when you suddenly aren’t what you have always been, it really messes stuff up in your heart. It’s a weird situation to find theology for–when you know that you are doing what God has called you to do, and suddenly, everything breaks down and it’s over.  You don’t know whether you’re supposed to pursue your next opportunity, or just wait. You question your abilities. You question your intentions. You even question whether you even heard His voice in the first place.

I’ve been processing all of this through worship lately, and one of my favorite lines that has come out has been this simple prayer:

“I thought I’d heard You. I thought we’d named this road together. But now that it’s all broken down, help me learn to trust that You know better.”

His ways are higher than my ways. His dreams are bigger than my dreams. And He knows my heart, and my desires. He knows my pain, and He understands me when everyone else misunderstands me.

I know now–in a way that I never would have without this experience–that Jesus is a much better author for my life than I could ever be. I’ve learned so much about myself and my tendencies if left alone to my own devices in this season, and I feel like I have grown up in a way that I know that I couldn’t have if I had been left to my happy little “dream” life.

And now, my little boys are waking up from their nap, and I have to get back to the life that I have been called to lead in this season.

The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

The Best Thing You Can Do For The Struggling Mom

USSSSThe other day I took my just-turned-two year old twin boys to a new YMCA branch for the first time. I had looked into all of the amenities of all the local branches, and saw that this one had an awesome outdoor splash park, and after looking at pictures of the facility (and noticing that there was a huge fence around the splash park. My gosh I love fences.) I determined that I could probably manage it without any of us being seriously hurt if I took them by myself. So, I put on their swim clothes and loaded them into the car for another new adventure–just the three of us.

This is something that happens often–this experimenting with new environments. There are some places that I would NEVER return, some that I would only return with another set of helping hands, and some that turn out to be our regular “spots.” The hard thing about this, though, is that there always has to be a “first trip.” And, going in, you never quite know what to expect.

You see, it turns out that toddlers can be rather unpredictable.

This trip to the YMCA started out wonderfully. After loading them from the car into the double stroller, I walked up to the building and saw an automatic door button that joyfully flung open both doors–which made entry into the building a breeze. (Unless you have ever had to push a double stroller around, you might not understand the depths of joy that this brings to my heart.) I walked inside and handed the greeter our YMCA membership cards, she scanned them, and then walked with me to the entrance of the spray park, opening all the doors on the way.

This is going great!” I thought to myself.

When we made it to the spray park and I let the boys out of the stroller, I quickly realized that they weren’t interested in being in the water. At. All. Water was of satan, and to be avoided at all costs. I then decided that I would bring them inside to the pool (where there was an ankle-deep area with large climbing toys) to try to let them get acclimated to the water. Maybe that would ease them into the splash park.

I brought them inside, and put a huge life jackets on each of them. We were the only ones in the pool area, but there was a young lifeguard sitting on the chair right beside the ankle-deep area, giving me a concerned look the entire time as I buckled their crotch straps and guided them toward the water.

“This is ok, right?” I asked him as we waddled toward the water, a boy holding each hand, confused about why he looked so concerned.

“Yes, it’s fine as long as they are in their lifejackets and you are with them. But can you put red bracelets on them, because they haven’t passed their swim test? They are over there (pointing all the way across the room) in that box.”

I started walking with one boy holding each hand, away from the water and along the edge of the pool, when both soon realized that I was walking AWAY from the fun stuff and went “jelly legged”(yes, I’m pretty sure that’s the scientific term for it) and stood there hunched over with two babies basically dangling from one arm for a moment, as I tried to keep myself from asking the young man if it was 100% necessary to get these coveted red bracelets since we were the only ones in the pool. Surely he could remember that the only ones in the pool hadn’t passed the swim test. And the fact that they can’t even talk yet and look like babies might be a good indicator of that as well, but I don’t know, I’m not a lifeguard.

As I stood there with my little arm anchors flailing on the concrete, I did the only thing that I could think to do–a move that I have mastered over the last two years, but was made much more difficult by the puffy life jackets they were wearing–the double arm scoop. I picked up both boys and carried them under each arm screaming and flailing ever-toward the bucket of red bracelets. When we surprisingly arrived in one piece, I got two bracelets out and attempted to put them on their tiny wrists, which was clearly almost impossible. I got one on, and the moment that I turned to put the other one on, the first boy had already ripped his off. So I tried again. And again. Finally after a few times, I got them on their wrists and grabbed their braceleted hands quickly before they could remember they were wearing RED SHACKLES OF DEATH around their wrists and started walked back toward the pool.

We had made it. We were still alive.

I walked into the water with them, the water barely up to their ankles at this point, and I sat down next to them in the water and started to splash water onto their little legs and arms. The lifeguard stared at us as if we were in imminent danger, and something about his stare told me that that he wished we weren’t there.

“Are you sure that this is ok? Because we can get out if this makes you uncomfortable.” I asked him again, as I felt the heat of his stare bearing down on us.

He again insisted that it was fine, as long as I was there with them in the water.

As we were playing in the water together (me sitting in the water next to them) one quickly darted out of the water and onto the bank of the pool, running toward the deep end, if no one caught him, the other was just standing frozen in the water acting like he had been cemented in one place.  I looked up and saw that the life-guard was literally 5 feet from the boy next to me in the water, and seeing that the boy in the water would have to go pretty far out into the pool to be in danger, I made a decision to chase the boy that was darting away. I grabbed him pretty quickly by the arm and walked back toward the other boy, who had somehow in the last 5 seconds magically gained the courage to walk out a little deeper into the water, about waist deep on him, but enough to where the bottom of the HUGE life jacket picked him up and made him lose his footing. I was literally back in the water, maybe 8 feet away from him when I saw him bob a little bit as he lost his footing, his head and chest never even getting a drop of water on it, completely protected by the life jacket.

I then saw the lifeguard quickly and dutifully bound from his seat and run for my son and pick him up, even though I may have been closer to him than the lifeguard had been when it happened. I was a little confused by why he had felt the need to do it, but I thanked the lifeguard for grabbing him, and made sure that I didn’t let go of either of their hands while we played in the water for a few more minutes. I didn’t want to make the lifeguard get his ankles wet again.

A couple of minutes later, a woman came out of the office and patted the young man on the back and congratulated him on his “first save.” I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at this, because my son had on a huge life jacket and never even got close to the water even touching his neck, much less his face. But I was glad that he took his new job so seriously. I would let him count it as his “first save” if he wanted to. Even though, I thought that might have been a million percent dramatic.

A few minutes later, another woman with a clip-board come up to me as we were exiting the pool to go back out to the splash park, and she asked me to which child the “incident” had occurred. I was actually confused for a moment. I didn’t realize that any time the lifeguard helped somebody out by partially stabilizing a child in waist-deep water (two-year old, waist-deep water, not adult waist-deep) was considered an “incident” worthy of reporting, but alas I guess it was. I told her his name, and mine, and just laughed it off. I figured that since nobody had actually seen the incident, all they knew was that the lifeguard left his stand, and that was an incident that needed reporting.

But inside, I couldn’t help but think that he was in more danger of hurting himself by flailing out of my arm onto the concrete from the double-arm scoop when you forced us to put on red-bracelets then he was in the “incident”. But ok. Whatevs. I’ll let the kid get his glory.

Pretty much realizing at this point that the lifeguard WASN’T comfortable with us being in the water at all inside, we went back outside to try out the splash park again. The boys played in the water this time and were having a blast! A few minutes into playing and the lifeguards traded places again, and the splash park lifeguard was now the same lifeguard that had “saved” my son.

The boys wandered over to where I was storing their bag, and started “foraging” (that’s what I call looking for food in the diaper bag) so I grabbed an apple out of their bag that I had already cut in half and got them to sit in chairs as they ate it. The lifeguard gave us a stare again, like we were doing something wrong, so I asked him again.

“I’m sorry, we’ve never been here before, is it ok for them to eat out here?” I asked, trying to get him to just STOP LOOKING AT US LIKE THAT.

“Yeah, it’s totally fine.” he said.

My boys finished their apple and headed back to play in the splash park again, as I played with them for about an hour. Well, if you call chasing them and telling them to “SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM” “TAKE TURNS” “DON’T LICK THAT” and “THAT’S NOT YOURS” a million times “PLAYING together” then we were totes playing together. But I was about to pull my hair out. I decided to force them to take a break (mostly for my sanity) and we went back to our bag for a drink. I realized that they didn’t have any water in their cups, so I pulled two pouches of applesauce out of their bag and gave them to them.

It was at this fateful moment that the lifeguards swapped places again. The guard that came in this time was obviously more experienced and as soon as he walked out of the building and saw my boys sucking on their go-go squeezes he declared loudly:

“Whoa, Whoa, they can’t have that out here. Food is not allowed.”

I told him that the other lifeguard had told me that it was ok, and he said “He’s new. He doesn’t know any better.”

Ok then. I took the pouches away from the boys (they were empty by now anyway) and put them back in my bag. Trying not to say anything. I then made sure to try to pick up the pieces of apple peeling that the boys had thrown on the ground pre-revelation of the “no food” rule–lest we be scorned again. The boys took off again into the park, and I followed them.

We “played” again for another hour or so, and I realized that it was about time to leave. I grabbed the boys and brought them back over to the stroller, and figured that I should take their shorts and swim-shirts off (leaving on their swim diapers) before I set them back in the stroller so that they wouldn’t get the stroller so wet. They kept running out of my reach and I kept having to pick one up to go grab the other my the arm. I would normally use food as a bribe to get one to sit still so that I could deal with the other, but that wasn’t an option for me at this point. I finally got one boy to sit in a chair, and I found a toy in my bag and gave it to him, hoping that it would get him to sit still for long enough for me to take his brother’s clothes off and get him into the stroller. I grabbed the other boy, and quickly pulled his swim shirt off, and before I could even get it over his head the lifeguard spoke again.

“Whoa, you aren’t planning on changing them out here, are you?”

I sighed. And said “No, I’m leaving them in their diapers. I just wanted to take their outer clothes off so I wouldn’t get the stroller soaked on the way to the locker room.”

He didn’t say anything.

I finally got both boys into their diapers and strapped into the stroller with a towel underneath them. I started gathering our things and turned the stroller around and started pushing them toward the door. When the lifeguard spoke again.

“Ma’am, there are some apple pieces under this chair, can you pick those up before you leave.”

I stopped. Locked the stroller, and walked back and picked up the couple of pieces of allusive apple peels that I had obviously missed, put them in the cupholder on the stroller, and walked back inside, where I was greeted by the woman with the clipboard again.

She said “Thanks for coming in today. Is your little boy ok?”

And at this point, and i sighed, and said in a tone that I probably wouldn’t be proud of, “He’s fine. Thanks.”

The whole way back to the locker room and out to the car I kept thinking of why the whole experience had frustrated me so much. I wasn’t upset because they were enforcing the rules, I know that I don’t expect special treatment. I don’t expect for the rules to just “not apply” to me because I have two young children in tow. No, it wasn’t because of the rules, or even the fact that the lifeguards were being awfully “strict” on the rules.

I realized that the reason that the whole experience had been so frustrating was because it was as if the lifeguards and the woman with the clipboard had no understanding that I was trying my hardest to provide my kids with a fun experience, and that I had no intention of breaking any rules. Instead of realizing that I was trying my hardest, and not intentionally doing things that we weren’t supposed to do, or that would make them nervous (in the case of the slightly over-zealous new lifeguard), I felt that they simply wished that we weren’t there. That simply the presence of a mom with two children that don’t understand words yet was making their jobs (and lives) SO much more difficult.

And it was tangible.

So, here’s my conclusion. There are tons of things that you can do for a mom (or dad, or nanny, or grandparent) that is struggling in public with their kids. You can open doors for them. You can let them cut in line when their kids are obviously TOTALLY DONE with the shopping trip at hand. You can pick up their kid’s sippy cup that they threw on the floor for the thousandth time after being told not to.

Yes, there are tons of nice things that you can do to help us out in the thick of it.

But, truly the best thing that you can possibly do for the struggling mom, is to simply understand that she is struggling. 

The best thing that you can do is to find it in your heart to understand that she is out in public doing whatever she is doing with her children for a reason, and that their presence, however more difficult it might make your job, or however unpleasant it might make your experience, she most assuredly has a really good reason to be there.

The best thing that you can do is to recognize the fact that SHE recognizes the fact that her crew might need a little extra attention then the average folks, and that it isn’t her intention to make your life more difficult.

The most helpful thing that you can do for her in the thick of the screaming, flailing, and tantruming,  is to understand and celebrate the fact that, ultimately, she is only trying to be the best mom that she can be.

(Even if it totally looks like she is basically dragging them along for the ride under flailing jelly-legs.)

Because Everyone Means Everyone

EqualityThe Supreme Court ruled justly on gay marriage. And I’m saddened to see that so many Christians believe that it didn’t.

You see, my marriage is many things at once. It is a covenant, a symbol, and an earthly legal contract all at the same time.

My marriage has many names.

My marriage is covenant–based around the Biblical concept of what a covenant is–between my spouse, myself, and my God. It’s an oath. It’s unbreakable. It’s holy. It’s smiled upon by Jesus. It’s a bond that cannot be broken. My spouse and I are one. As long as we breathe this air, we cannot be separated in the eyes of our God.

My marriage is a symbol. The day I walked down the aisle to meet my groom will forever be a picture of the pure, spotless bride that will be presented to Jesus when His time has finally come–when those that loved Him until the end and never lost sight of Him as the prize of life see Him face to face. It is also a daily symbol of how Jesus loves me–devotedly, passionately, and intimately–with no shadow of turning.

My marriage is also an earthly legal contract–at least that’s what the government thinks. The government LITERALLY gives me monetary benefits for being in love. I’ve always thought that was a pretty sweet deal, for lack of more eloquent words. I’m in love with my husband. Five years ago, after a covenant ceremony in sight of God and all these witnesses, I decided to sign a piece of paper. And now they give us a break every year on our taxes because I didn’t decide to divorce him. I get paid to be in love. What a blessing that is. What a benefit.

But you see, this marriage of mine is
not just something that can be signed into existence on a piece of paper. It’s not something that is ONLY this or ONLY that–it is more than ONLY anything.

You see, the government thinks that it’s in the business of marriage. And I find it heartbreaking to think that so many God-fearing people believe that it actually is.

My marriage is more than only anything.

You see, a covenant is truly only defined by the parties involved in the oath being made.

And a symbol is only appreciated by the ones that recognize the depth of truth in its existence.

But, a legal contract is defined by pen and ink. It’s set in stone, and the same for everyone who signs.

The government gave me a piece of paper to sign to legally “marry” my husband. But, if for whatever reason, we went to the courthouse tomorrow and were informed that our legal “marriage” license had been filed incorrectly and that we weren’t actually “married,” I would probably just smile–maybe even chuckle under my breath–at the fact that this little person behind this little desk actually thought that some little paperwork created by men affected a covenant that little-old me and my little spouse had made with the Creator of the universe.

You see, because out of all the names my marriage carries, the legal one means the least.

Take away the covenant, and my marriage is empty words.

Take away the symbolism and my marriage loses its everyday beauty and purpose.

Take away the legal contract and my marriage loses nothing but some little, green pieces of paper that have been given value by men.

And just as my marriage has many names, our country also has many names.

Land of the free.

Home of the brave.

But of all its names, this one might be the most important: the nation where all those who breathe its air are created equal.

Yes, of all of its names, this should be the one that truly defines us and sets us apart. A dedication to living up to the honor of this name–that all people should have access to all the same benefits our country has to offer–especially the benefits of being in love and fully committed to another person.

And as long as the contract that provides me benefits for being in love with my spouse is called a “marriage,” and as long as this contract is still available to me, it must also be available to everyone else. It’s kind of in our rulebook–there from the very beginning. It’s just taken a lot of work and hundreds of years to recognize what the depths of it actually implies.

We are all entitled to love whomever we want. We are all entitled to commit ourselves to whomever we wish.

And we are also entitled to fully define our “marriage” in our hearts in whatever way that we wish. This is one of the many benefits of living in this country.

Because committed love is for everyone, and as long as our country provides a benefit for it, we can’t define “everyone” as anything other than everyone.

As long as the government is in the business of “marriage” and as long as this definition of “marriage” comes with rights, constitutional justice can only side with equality for all people.

And constitutional justice has many names, too.

And one of them was spoken loudly on June 26th, 2015.

The Rise of the “Histopian” Novel

8681456600_b8f8fba43a_bWhen it came time to publish BLUE, and I was asked to choose a “genre” for the Amazon search fields, I can honestly say that it took me more than 30 minutes to decide where to categorize this crazy book.

BLUE is set in post-Apartheid South Africa, starting in 1995, which technically makes it “Historical Fiction”–which is obviously a genre choice on Amazon.

BUT, BLUE also explores what it would have been like if history would have turned out differently–so, it could technically be considered “alternative history”–which is another genre choice on Amazon.

But, BLUE is ALSO a dystopian story–much like “The Hunger Games” and “Divergent”–set in a society that is the opposite of a “utopia.” A dystopian novel is one that explores a fictional society that is as “dehumanizing and as unpleasant as possible” (thank you Dictionary.com).

Actually, when I started trying to categorize BLUE I didn’t think that it even fit the bill for a “dystopian” novel, because of the fact that it wasn’t set in the future. But I quickly realized after doing some categorical research, that “dystopian” doesn’t technically HAVE to equal FUTURISTIC. It just means that it describes a society that is pretty messed-up– for lack of better words.

And then I had a wonderful fan of mine tell me that there was another book that was set to be released in November that was being labeled “historical dystopian” it is called “The Walled City” and is based on a real-life historical “dystopia”–just like BLUE.

He told me that this new genre is being labeled “HISTOPIAN.”

Finally. I had my genre. Something that I could sum up in one word. Even if it really isn’t a word yet.

And, I must say, it was a relief to feel like I wasn’t just a crazy person that created my own genre.

Now, if only we can convince Amazon to actually make it a real genre. I’d be #1 for sure. 😉

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BLUE: Available NOW on Amazon in Paperback and Kindle e-Book

IT'S FOR SALE!The day has finally arrived! Blue is officially for sale!

And, I’m happy to announce that 25% of all book profits will go to fund Adoptions. (We will announce which organization after I receive my first royalty check.)

Now, don’t assume that because the Paperback copy is more expensive that I actually make more money off of it. It is actually the complete opposite. I actually get the highest royalty off of the Kindle copy! But don’t feel pressured to purchase the Kindle copy if you would rather have the paperback. Every sale is amazing and helpful. 🙂

Click here to purchase BLUE for Kindle. ($8.99)
(Will work on any e-reader or mobile device that supports the free Kindle app for PCiPad,  iPhone, or Android. (any device should support a Kindle app, though.)

Click here to purchase BLUE in paperback. (Currently $11.66+shipping)

Please Visit my Instagram (@thekaseyjackson) Twitter (@thekaseyjackson) and Facebook accounts on how you can help me spread the word about the release of BLUE through social media. Your help is SO appreciated. 🙂

After you read the book, PLEASE take a few minutes to review it on Amazon and Goodreads.

Thank you guys for all of your love and support! And thank you in advance for your purchase! Can’t wait to hear what you think!