Mom’s Legacy

Little did I know when I wrote about my mother’s writing a couple of years ago, that someone would republish her series of science fiction novels from the 1960’s. I am gratefully amazed at all the effort and time Winston Crutchfield of Critical Media, put in to making this a reality. My small part included going back, to reread and reevaluate her work after sixty years, yet it has not been easy. But I am thankful because the process has given me a deeper understanding of why my mother did some of the things she did and helped me release many difficult memories to God. Now, back in that time when I was a kid, I guess that to our neighbors, mom seemed, well to put it politely, eccentric. To my sister and I, she was our “crazy mom!”, but according to some sources today, she is considered one of the more influential women science fiction writers of her generation. But just who was the real Diane Detzer?

Now back in those days, readers thought she was Adam Lukens, (her pen name), and boy did mom hate being coerced into using a man’s name! But that was the late 1950’s and her agent, Scot Meredith, insisted that very few people would take a woman seriously as a science fiction writer. So she went along and seven novels later she finally began to use her own name. But just what motivated her to write so furiously for those ten plus years, and what led to her disappearing from the scene?

The answers to those questions remind me of Winston Churchill’s quote about Russians, “Russia is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” My mother, Diane Detzer, was born in 1930, and though like everyone in her generation, her thinking was affected by the economic disaster of ’29, she was really more of a Navy brat than a child of the depression. Probably of greatest impact was them living at Pearl Harbor, during the Japanese surprise attack on December 11, 1941. Though my grandfather, Captain A. J. Detzer (or Gus as his friends called him) survived the bombing, my mom who was just eleven years old, it meant moving almost 5,000 miles back home to Ridgefield, Connecticut. What motivated her to become a science fiction writer, rather than an author of romance, mystery or even a newspaper reporter remains that enigma. Was it her passion for adventure, a desire to make heroes of the little guys or just sticking up for the underdogs struck a chord with her readers?

Surprisingly, the choice of genre was far less important to mom, than the research that went into making her stories work. She would spend months becoming familiar with the details behind her characters, such as getting to know what everyday life was like for someone in a wheelchair, for The Sea People, for the blind in Eevalu and about the culture of gypsies for the character, Doctor Kinowski in her later books. Then, after the research came weeks and weeks of thunderous typing on her Royal typewriter, which sat on the dining room table. I still remember drifting off to sleep as a child, with the ding of the return and the brrrrup, of her slamming the carriage back for the next line. By the early 1960’s, the growing popularity of her books motivated her to start a local Writer’s workshop, which she cheerfully titled, “Coffee and Cigarettes.” The collection of characters who showed up to smoke, write and down cups of coffee were both kind of weird and amazing to me as an eleven-year-old. But mom’s pursuit of writing excellence didn’t translate well into excellence in relationships. Her marriage to my dad lasted only a bit over a year. Two years later she remarried a rather overly strict and strict disciplinarian named Arthur Lukens (where her pen name came from). I am sure Art intended to be a good dad and husband but though there I have some happy memories of playing baseball, and eating mom’s home-made bread our home also was often filled with long loud arguments in the evenings. By the time I was twelve we moved back with my grandparents to Connecticut and there she met and married her third husband, the artist Rudy de Reyna. They met while mom was teaching at the Famous Writer’s School and he at the Famous Artist’s School. I liked Rudy a lot and he was a good step-dad to my sister and I, but again in the evenings we would hear the arguments and their relationship ended after just three years. All of the craziness at home probably had some effect on her writing, but her decision to try switching from Sci-fi to Romance in the 1970’s went nowhere, and coupled with a time of mental collapse, somehow mom just gave up on writing.

But while she wrote, mom conveyed an intensity and adventure coupled with her effortless dialogue and interesting characters some wonderful stories in her 7-8 books. I so am grateful for Winston Crutchfield, who has worked long and hard to bring back to life the first of these, titled, The Sea People, published by Avalon in 1959 and I hope that you will have as much fun reading as mom did when she was writing and pounding away her story on that royal typewriter so many years ago!

Today, her very first full-length novel, The Sea People” is now available again in soft cover at Barnes and Noble.com and in eBook form at Amazon Kindle. Here is the Kindle link.

Lessons From my Washburn (guitar)

So we, being many, are one body in Christ, and individually members of one another. Having then gifts differing according to the grace that is given to us, let us use them: Romans 12:5-6 a NKJV

I always look forward to the insights that Beth Allison shares over on her blog Lessons From a Lab I, on the other hand get to learn a few things from my Washburn. Now I freely admit that the photos Beth shares of her doggie friends, Adi and Summer are far cuter, than my guitar, but God uses what we each of have to teach us His truth, and it was kind of neat how changing and tuning six strings yesterday reminded me of today’s verse.

First, every string is different. Each of us requires our own individual amount of tension if we are going to sound our note. When we go around expecting others to be singing the same as us, we will not only be sorely disappointed, but we will also miss out on enjoying being ourselves. Some folks are low and slow, like Brother Low E, and others are temperamental and creative like the Mr. B-string, (whose soulful pitch sounds wonderful but goes out of tune the fastest!)

Secondly, each string has its own time and place to be playing during the song. Sometimes the lower strings remain silent, while the highest notes are trilling away, and yet they cannot leave the fretboard in a huff, demanding more attention. They must patiently wait their turn to become the baseline, that will help me to transition from the verse to the chorus. Yes, there are happy tunes when everyone gets to alternate in upbeat joyful praise, but best of all, are the moments when they join together in a final harmonic ring!

Last, I learned that the place assigned by the world to my strings is the exact opposite of how I relate to them. You see, Brother E, who is my lowest note is called my sixth string, and High E, who is his little sister, is called first. Though she may put on airs, when others call her the finest string of all, I would remind her that, from the musician’s point of view, it is the lowest string who is closest to me and nearest to my heart. But whether we are first or last, the most wonderful thing is that we are all his instrument, who He created and tuned to play a song of praise to Him today and forever!

Joy at the Hem of His Garment

They said unto him, Grant unto us that we may sit, one on thy right hand, and the other on thy left hand, in thy glory. Mark 10:37

For she said within herself, If I may but touch his garment, I shall be whole. Luke 9:21 KJV

My recent bout with sickness, reminded me of the difference between the woman with the issue of blood, and the disciples, James and John. Like them, I am far more likely to “Claim my inheritance.” or say that “I am more than a conqueror”, instead of quietly seeking the low position at the hem of Jesus’ garment. But I discovered that there is nothing like severe chills, fever and weakness, to get me on my knees praying for God to calm my heart and give me strength. This morning, grateful to be feeling normal again, I remembered how these two brothers came up with a plan to leapfrog ahead of the other guys. It is almost funny to look at this same story in Matthew chapter twenty, where we find out that they had actually sent their mom to make the request. But if we would be honest, most of us would have to confess that we are not so different from these brothers. In our church, our small group or in our neighborhoods, we jockey for position, privilege or prestige, far more often than we humbly set our sights for a lowly unnoticed place. But the truth is that there is little blessing to be found in asking for prominence, but much joy and healing flows naturally when our hearts are willing to take the lowest place. A long time ago I wrote a poem that I hope may be a blessing for you today, and that you will find God’s acceptance and blessing at the hem of His garment! I also posted my favorite version of “Like a River Glorious” sung by Lindsey Kirkland with her new baby. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I have. Blessings all!

Grace for The Road

At the hem of the garment of Jesus
Is a place that is low and unseen
And a voice that is quiet and gentle
Calling to come follow Him

Some say they don’t want us around them
They’re more comfortable when we’re not there
But at the hem of the garment of Jesus
Is a place of acceptance and care

There the Lord and the ruler of Heaven
Shows His heart that is lowly and meek
For He’s ready to carry our burdens
And gives strength in the places we’re weak

So trust Him today and forever
Take hold of the hem of His robe
For He welcomes the humble and weary
And has promised us grace for the road!

Grace for the Road by Peter Caligiuri
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