My babies are growing up.

Noah is eleven. Built like a truck, endowed with creativity that reminds me of a better me. Glory is eight, a 50/50 split between a Tomboy and a Princess. She loves art and runs like a deer, sometimes a deer in headlights. Joel is six, and he’s the most stunning (and sometimes exhasperating) mix of fierce and tender I’ve ever seen. He lives and breathes hugs and hockey.

And then there are my other babies:

The Wound — a haunting tale of revenge and obsession that takes you to the very brink of despair and back again, tracing the stories of two contemporaries of Jesus who want nothing more than to murder him in cold blood.

Heavenly Places: A Parable of Kingdom Life — a Pilgrim’s Progress for the Postmodern generation. What would life be like if you could see the invisible things that we must now accept by faith? Follow the journey of Ivan as he navigates the spiritual realm, trying to choose between a way of life that will kill his heart and a narrow path that will lead him into the arms of the King.

Cold Millions — a mystery/suspense tale about greed, patience, and integrity. Can’t say more than that yet, it’s a secret.

The Trees of Trehanu — an epic fantasy about a reluctant hero with the fate of two worlds in his hands. This one is really cool. I wish I could say more.

(As yet unnamed) — a sci-fi epic about the end of the world as we know it, offering a mind-bending twist on the whole “man vs. machines” genre. BOO! Did I scare you? Am I even real?

Never mind my babies, I’ve been growing up as a writer lately too, thanks to the Mount Hermon writer’s Conference. Yeesh. I found out my ideas are somewhat lacking. And my plots. And my craft. But the thing is, I have a new mission. I can see what I need to do to improve, to help my babies grow along with me. One day, they’ll make me proud. Right now they’re in the potty training stage. Not so proud.

Come next year, I’ll be that much better. Will it be good enough to get published? Who knows? There’s always the year after that.