Authors: Terri Blackstock
AFTERWORD
Parker James is one of my favorite characters, because her life is so similar to mine. Creatively, we’re almost twins, telling stories in hopes of impacting lives. I think one of the things unique to the writer’s life is that we do seem to be on a roller coaster. I finish a book! Hoorah! Everything’s wonderful. Then I send it off and wait. Time passes. My spirits plunge. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever written. Why, oh why did I send it when I did? I start scouring the newspaper for real jobs. Then I get the call. They love it and are really going to publish it. Yes! Life is grand! Woo-hoo!
Then I get the revision letter. It’s horrible. They want me to rewrite the whole book, change the title, and think about a pseudonym. They hate the plot and think the wrong characters died. Oh, and they want me to add a dog and a baby. I plunge again as I try to pick up the pieces that are salvageable. But then it occurs to me how it can be done, and hey, that dog really does add to the suspense, and the baby will be worth a few boxes of tissue, so yahoo, I’m up again as I send it off. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done, a guaranteed blockbuster.
But then I can’t pay my light bill, and the checks are starting to bounce, and that check from the publisher never comes. So I plunge again. Finally, I get paid, and dance around singing, “I’m in the money!” Then I write a check to Uncle Sam, pay that late light bill, my late insurance premium, and wonder how I’m going to make it on what’s left over until the next check. Spirits take another dive.
Book comes out, good review, I dance again and sing for joy and write all my friends and get copies for my mother. Then I go on Amazon and read one lousy review from some hostile reader, and I notice that I’m ranked 6,000,342,786, and I go around the house looking for my gun. But before I pull the trigger, I start thinking, “What if some guy had a gun, and before he offs himself a shot rings out and he hits the floor and suddenly wants to live, only others want him dead,” and woo-hoo, my spirits soar and my eyes glaze over, and like a homing robot, I stumble back to that keyboard and start banging.
And it all starts over again.
That’s the writing life.
But I love that roller coaster. It’s the ride God gave me, and doing it for the Kingdom of God is a privilege. There’s a ride for you, as well, one that He chose for you before the foundation of the world. I hope you’re on it.
John 15:8: “My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be My disciples.”
Find your gift and use it. Then enjoy the ride!
Blessings,
Terri Blackstock
DOUBLE MINDS
STUDY
QUESTIONS
A Sample Chapter
from Terri Blackstock’s Forthcoming Novel,
Intervention
Releases November 2009
CHAPTER
ONE
Barbara Covington’s rescuer stood on the sidewalk at baggage claim, smoking a cigarette and chugging a Red Bull. Barbara swallowed back the irony that the interventionist, as she was called, had promised to help rid her daughter of her addictions. Clearly, she had a few of her own.
Maybe she should drive past her, forcing her to get back on that plane and return to the drug rehab she ran. She could work this out herself. Lock her daughter in her room and take away her car keys and force her to stay sober. But hadn’t she already tried that? Despite her best efforts to turn their home into a lockdown, Emily still managed to sneak out and get high.
How had this happened?
That familiar knot burned in her stomach as she pulled to the curb and waved at the woman. It had to be her. She was wearing the long red skirt she told her she’d have on, and a white peasant blouse that made her look more like a college student than someone who could escort an active addict across the country. What if Emily put up a fight? How would this petite thing handle her?
Barbara swallowed back her fears and pulled the lever under the dashboard, popping her trunk. Forcing a welcoming smile, she got out of the car. “Hi, are you Trish?”
“Sure am.” The woman dropped her cigarette on the concrete and stomped it out with a sandaled foot, then thrust a hand out to Barbara.
Barbara hoped her hand felt warmer than it was. “I’m Barbara Covington.”
“Trish Massey.”
Barbara glanced at the small bag at the woman’s feet. “Is this all you have?”
“Yeah, I won’t be here long.”
Barbara picked up her bag and set it in the trunk as Trish got into the car. She slipped back into the driver’s seat. The car that she’d freshened with Febreze suddenly smelled of smoke.
Trish was all smiles. “So where did you tell Emily you were going?”
“To an Al-anon meeting.”
“And that’s okay with her?”
Barbara breathed a laugh. “Oh, yeah. She likes it when I’m working on her problem. She would love it if everybody she knew were going to meetings and wringing their hands. She loves to keep us playing the What-to-Do-about-Emily game.”
There she went again, letting her bitterness spill out to a perfect stranger.
“Meetings are good,” Trish said. “Have you been to any?”
Barbara pulled away from baggage claim and headed to the loop that would take them out of the airport. “I’ve been to plenty. I’ve done the workbooks and gone through the twelve steps, as if I’m the one with the problem. I’ve done everything they’ve told me to do. But she’s still using.”
“Al-anon meetings are to help the family members’ sanity, not to give you some secret code to sober up your loved one.”
Barbara knew that had been her mistake. She’d gone hoping to learn what would work. When she didn’t get those answers, she’d lost interest. Her sanity would return when her daughter was sane.
Strange that a woman who couldn’t be more than thirty would be counseling her now. And who was Trish to counsel an eighteen-year-old? Emily would take one look at her and declare her dominance.
What was she doing? Maybe this was all wrong.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Trish said, as though she’d read her mind.
Barbara didn’t want to cry in front of the woman. “When Emily was going into preschool, I personally visited fourteen schools. I interviewed teachers. I even spent a day with her at the few I liked, to see how she fit in.”
“I don’t blame you. I’d probably do the same if I had children.” “It’s no easy thing, sending her to a place like this, halfway across the country. I talked to at least two dozen places before I decided on Road Back. I chose very carefully.”
“You won’t be disappointed.”
She was counting on it. She glanced at Trish. “She’ll be locked in, right? Because if she isn’t, she’ll leave. I’ve tried treatment two other times—one time, she ran away. The second time, she smuggled drugs in and got kicked out.”
“She’ll be monitored at all times. Don’t worry, we do this all the time. She’ll be very comfortable.”
Comfort wasn’t her main concern, though she didn’t want Emily to be miserable. Barbara bit the inside of her cheek as she pulled onto the interstate, headed for the hotel she’d reserved for Trish. She was sinking thirty thousand dollars into this rehab, money that had come from a second mortgage on her house. But being expensive didn’t guarantee that it was good. Even the best rehabs had under-whelming success rates.
She wished the young woman inspired more confidence. “You seem very young. How did you come to own Road Back?”
Trish flicked her hair behind her ear. “I’m a recovering addict myself. I got clean at Road Back, and when I graduated, I stayed and worked there. I’ve been doing interventions for them for five years. A couple of years ago, the directors wanted to retire, so I decided to buy it. I couldn’t stand the thought of it not being there anymore. That’s how much I believe in the program.”
That made her feel somewhat better. She wished she could go there herself to make sure it was safe. But once she’d made up her mind to do the intervention, there hadn’t been time to take a trip to check it out in person. Waiting could result in Emily’s arrest … or worse. They had to act now.
And escorting Emily herself would never work. No, she’d made the decision that it would take a professional to convince Emily to go, and Trish had to be the one to escort her.
She had to stop thinking of Emily as that same little girl she’d raised. She had changed, and Barbara didn’t like the person who’d replaced her. If only this rehab could exorcise the addiction within her and return Emily home in her former condition …
It would be a miraculous answer to prayer.
But what if this failed too, and she never saw that little girl again?
Blinking back tears, she took the exit that was near her home. The hotel sign loomed up ahead. “I hope the room is okay. I went ahead and checked you in.” She handed her the key card.
“It’ll be fine. You should see some of the places I’ve had to stay.” As Barbara pulled into the parking lot, Trish shifted in her seat to look at her. “So, did you write the letters?”
Barbara nodded. “Yes, I have them with me.” She dug into her purse. “Here they are.”
Trish took them and turned on the overhead light. “And who is Lance?”
“My son. He’s fourteen.”
“What about her father?”
“He died four years ago. When Emily was twelve.”
“Oh.” The word almost thudded between them. “Is that when Emily’s problems started?”
“Not right away. But over the next year she got in with the wrong crowd. Bunch of thugs and criminals.” She paused, letting Trish read. Those dreaded tears rimmed her eyes, spilled over.
“We’re not like this. There was never even alcohol in our home. I’ve taken her to church every Sunday of her life …” Her voice faded out. Trish probably heard this same song and dance from every parent she dealt with.
“It’s not your fault.”
Then whose fault was it? Pursing her lips, she let Trish finish reading.
Finally, Trish looked up. “Is there anyone else who’ll be there? Grandparents?”
“They’re too far away, and they’re not in good health. I’ve kept them in the dark about all this.”
“Friends? A boss?”
“Her friends are like her. They don’t want her sober. And she lost her job three weeks ago. Hasn’t been sober enough to get another one, so there’s not a boss who can get through to her.” Barbara glanced at her in the shadows of the car. “Is it a problem that it’s only my son and me?”
“No, we can work with that.” She handed the letters back. “You both did a good job with the letters. The main thing is that you stick to your guns about what will happen if she refuses to go. You have to be willing to throw her out with no resources, to precipitate change in her.”
Barbara said nothing. She had grappled with that issue for months now, and lain awake for the past three nights, begging God to give her a way out. Why couldn’t he sweep down and deliver Emily, before Barbara had to send her away for help or throw her out on the street?
“Are you ready for that? Putting her out if she refuses to go?”
Barbara swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Well, do you think she’ll agree to go to treatment?”
Barbara’s spine stiffened. “I thought you were here to convince her.”
“I can only do so much.”
So what had this extra thirty-five hundred dollar fee paid for? A free vacation for this woman? “She has to go with you. If she doesn’t, she’ll wind up in jail.”
“Or dead.”
Dead. No, she couldn’t survive burying anyone else. “I can’t let that happen. This has to work.”
“Do you think she’s sick of her disease yet?”
Barbara fought the urge to argue semantics. She hated the AA words like
disease
and
relapse
, like it was some kind of virus she had caught somewhere.
“I don’t think she’s at the end of her rope yet, like I am.”
“Well, maybe she won’t have to be at the end to want help.” Trish opened her car door. “What time will you pick me up?”
Barbara tried to think. The flight was at three, and this whole thing could take hours. They had to start early. “Eight a.m. I’ll get her up while you’re there.”
“Tonight, you need to take her car to a friend’s house. Park it there and hide the keys. If it’s not in the driveway, she can’t talk you into giving her the keys. If she leaves, it’ll have to be without the car.”
That shouldn’t be too hard. She could have one of her drug buddies there in minutes.
“Hopefully her connection with you and her brother will be enough to make her go. And I’ll do my part to make her see the possibilities.” She got out her cigarettes, pulled one out. “It’ll be okay. Most of the interventions I do are successful.”
“But there’s no guarantee.”
“I’m afraid not.”
She’d have to pay her whether Emily went with her or not. Success was the only option.