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The immediate view outside my window is the street outside my house and the Detroit River outside the window where I work. If I were so inclined that could easily be all the view I would ever see in my lifetime. But I was never so inclined. The real view outside my window is the view of me in the world. I wanted to see the Grand Canyon from the ground up so I went. I wanted to do Missions with my church in China, Thailand, Pakistan and Peru so I went there too. And because I went the view outside my window grew exponentially! And guess what I discovered? How I viewed me and my world grew also.
I believe the sum total of everything a writer will ever write is there inside of him or her simply waiting to be tapped. I also believe that the reason so many writers talk about writing instead of actually writing is because there’s so little there. You see, the view inside the writing space was never meant to be the whole entire writing universe, it was always meant to be the space where the work of writing got done. It’s the view outside the widow that inspires and equips a writer to pen great things. It’s going to brick and mortar libraries and sitting there reading great works among the stacks, in the midst of a community of people doing the same. It’s rafting through the Grand Canyon and climbing the great mountainous rocks, standing there and just taking in a panoramic view that will stay with you, inside you, the rest of your life. It’s getting out of your comfort zone and going to China so you can sneak Bibles to the underground churches there (we got 8000 Bibles total across the border in the one week we were there). It’s going from village to village and little church to little church in places like Thailand and Pakistan, sometimes walking for miles in the company of armed soldiers because the cease fire just might cease and war break out again. It’s about sleeping on a villager’s floor or on the ground and going to the bathroom outside. It’s eating rice three times a day four days straight and waking up to see the sun rise brilliant and new and you’re a million miles from home and in no hurry to get back, because you can write anywhere.
We writers write what we see and know and hope. We write what we dream and experience. We write to tell the stories that we’ve lived, in real life or in our imagined dreams. We write what’s outside the window.
I don’t know where I’ll be going next. Pakistan will be a tough trip to top, but I know this – I’m outta here. Passport in hand I’m leaving the view inside my writing space and joining the world outside my window. I want to see Mt. Everest up close. I want to touch an Egyptian pyramid with my bare hand. I want to go to the Sahara Desert, stand there in the midst and turn seeing nothing but sand around me. I want to see and touch and experience it all. And I want to write. Like I said – I can write anywhere.
Enjoy an excerpt:
Tori, whose mom died of breast cancer when she was young, has always relied on her own strength to get by - especially because her Archeologist father tends to leave her behind with his live-in girlfriend while he gallivants around the world on digs. Thankfully, Tori can take care of herself. She knows exactly who she is and what she wants to do with her life. Her Lakota Sioux grandfather, a former Navy SEAL, trained Tori in self-defense from a young age. Now, as a teenager, Tori excels at mixed martial arts and the use of various weapons. During the summer she will be attending an FBI sponsored Summer Camp which she hopes will lead to her dream job – becoming an FBI serial killer profiler.
With her two best friends at her side, Tori believes she can handle anything. And with summer vacation stretching before them, the trio plans to find plenty of adventure.
But while Tori is determined to be independent, life has other plans for this fierce young woman, and they include coming to grips with some hard - and surprising - truths about both her past and her future.
I could really use a belt. Fin thought as he jumped from the porch, bounding over the five steps. Running down the graveled drive at break-neck speed he cursed the fact he was wearing tennis shoes - that along with the baggy, beltless pants was hemming up his stride.
The sound of shrieks and a male voice yelling at him in a foreign language didn’t help the matter. Fin tripped over his own size 12 feet, rolled and got up running. After gathering his wits about him he heard a muffled roar zoom past him followed by a streak of green. He was unsure of what it was but he was too scared to try to figure it out – he was running now – minus the jeans and a tennis shoe.
Fin all but dove into his Camaro thankful he’d left the keys in the ignition and not in his pants pocket. He turned the key and sped down the drive, kicking dirt and gravel in his wake. In his rear-view mirror he could see the crazy man chasing him with the longest, sharpest sword he’d ever seen.
Making it to the end of the drive, Fin did a complete donut, spun the vehicle around in the right direction and then tore off down the street. Tori had grabbed his errant shoe and AJ leaned down to scoop up the jeans, then the two of them tore down the drive after Fin.
About the Author:
In addition to writing, Nikki Jackson is a contract worker for General Motors. She and her husband currently live in the Detroit metropolitan area.
Check out Nikki's blog or catch up with her on Twitter.
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