Author: Amy Lyles Wilson

I help people tell the stories they are called to tell through offering a variety of creative and spiritual practices. I facilitate workshops and retreats on such topics as creativity, grief, and spirituality. Published writer and experienced editor. Degrees in English, journalism, and theology. Lover of dogs, coffee, and all things wordsmith-y. Trained in Narrative Healthcare, Amherst Writers & Artists, Spiritual Direction, and SoulCollage®. "It's the sharing of our stories that saves us."

Rave Review for Festival of Faith and Writing

~ Amy Lyles Wilson

Last week I was surrounded by writers and word lovers and people who aren’t scared to ask questions about what it means to be faithful in the sense of religion. It was like being at Disneyland, only it was at Calvin College and there were no circling teacups or obnoxious songs about how small the world is.

One impressive voice of the many talented and brave speakers I heard is that of Sara Miles, a woman who took a bite of bread and tasted the grace of God. A woman who now devotes her time to being with those in need of food, fellowship, understanding, acceptance, or presence. And boy oh boy can she write.

I devoured Jesus Freak on the plane home from the Festival of Faith and Writing in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and I will be dashing to a bookstore this afternoon to pick up Take This Bread. A woman worth reading, and, more importantly, being inspired by.

Another fine example of what a woman can do with pen and paper and passion is to be found in Jo Kadlecek with me in the picture. She’s the one on the left who’s not holding a copy of her moving book, Woman Overboard: How Passion Saved My Life (Fresh Air Books, 2008). Talented, funny, kind, and willing to take me out to dinner when I visit Massachusetts in the fall. A winning combination…

A revised version of this post appears at HerNashville.com/spirit

Agent Angst

~ Amy Lyles Wilson ~ 1 Comment

Writers often contact me asking, “How do I get an agent?” I often respond, “I’m not sure.” Because, like many of the curves on the path to publication, it’s tricky. It’s also competitive. Where I find myself is cheerleading the minority, those few publishing peers who think you can get a fair deal without an agent. I’ve spent most of my 25-year publishing career with small- to mid-list presses. Today I work in acquisitions with a nonprofit religious publisher. We do not offer what many would consider “big” advances. But nor do we, in my opinion, take advantage of authors.

I do not think authors should take “just anything” that is offered to them. And I agree with those who say having an agent is a great way to go. With the ever-changing landscape of royalties, as related to digital rights, etc., it will probably become even more advantageous to have someone who can help the author “figure things out” with regard to contracts. But I do want to encourage those who don’t have agents: They may be hard to find, but there are opportunities out there that can be beneficial for both the publisher and the author. As with everything in life today, or so it seems, you can find information online about agents. You could start here: http://guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog/

Takeaway Tip: If you’re not already following agents, editors, publishers, and writers–especially those related to your genre–on Twitter, and reading their blogs, get busy.


Maybelle Drags Her Mother Online

~ Amy Lyles Wilson ~ 5 Comments

Maybelle is just old enough (don’t ask) to have missed being a true member of the computer generation. When she was in grad school, the computer lab consisted of massive monitors and clunky keyboards. Today that same school, a state university mind you, has rooms full of Macs and wireless all around. Maybelle is so happy for those kids she could just pop.

But Maybelle can surf with the best of them, so it was with full confidence that she offered to help her mother navigate the information superhighway.

“It’s easy, Mother. All you have to do is log on.”

“Log on what?”

“Log onto the Internet.”

“The Interwhat?”

Maybelle’s mother stared at her daughter, lips pursed.

“It’s libraries and research institutions and people connected by computers. You can access all sorts of information, even order clothes.” Maybelle knew this was not the time to get technical.

“Let’s look up something,” she suggested.

“I need to find the middle name of your father’s third cousin twice removed’s great-grandchild on his mother’s side. You know, the guy who was run out of town in the 1800s.”

“Right,” said Maybelle, rolling her eyes with fervor. “I remember him.”

“It could be the missing link to your family tree, Maybelle. Really, you ought to have more respect for your roots.”

“Okay. Let’s post a query on a listserv.”

“Post a what on a whosit?”

“It’s like a bulletin board. You ask a question and people respond, either here or in your mailbox.”

“The mailbox at the end of the driveway?”

“No,” said Maybelle, gripping the sides of her chair. “The mailbox attached to your email address.”

“Do I have one of those?”

“Yes, Mother, you do.”

“Oh,” she responded, shrugging her shoulders.

“Didn’t Mrs. Bartlebaumer send you something after her grandson got her online? Look, here it is, a picture of her great-grandchild. Yikes, she really shouldn’t have!”

“Don’t be mean,” said Maybelle’s mother, squinting.

“Maybe you need computer glasses.”

“Those sound expensive. I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay. Hit ‘reply’ and type Mrs. Bartlebaumer a note.”

“I don’t type very fast,” said Maybelle’s mother as she hunted and pecked and made clucking noises with her tongue.

“What happens if I accidentally punch the wrong button? Will that bother anyone else?”

“Like who?” asked Maybelle.

“Those researchers you mentioned, or people who are shopping.”

“You’re not going to bother them,” said Maybelle, patting her mother on her left knee. “I promise, you can’t bring down the entire Internet with one misplaced keystroke.”

“Well, I should hope not. Goodness knows I have enough to worry about.”

Several weeks later, Maybelle’s mother was bookmarking websites, visiting chat rooms, and sending emails with ease.

“Wow,” said Maybelle when she stopped by her mother’s house for a visit. “You’re doing great.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. But I don’t have time to visit right now. I got a lead on that relative of your father’s. The nicest historian in Scotland is emailing me. Maybe you and I can IM later tonight when traffic’s not jammed on the server. I’ll text your cell when I’m free.”

Maybelle hates it when she’s forced to resort to cliches, really she does. And she hopes you can forgive her. But all she could think as she walked away was, “We’ve come a long way, baby.”