Books & Writing Life

On Reading & Judging

2012-01-23T04:47:00.000-08:00

For the past few weeks, in between my writing schedule, I've been reading several books and manuscripts as a judge for various contests. While it has definitely added to my already busy schedule, I have to say I've enjoyed the task. I've been judging contests literally for decades. And boy-oh-boy have things changed in twenty years. Aspiring writers have so many more resources available to them nowadays, and most are wise enough to take advantage of those resources. People have found online critique groups, book "doctors," freelance editors, writers loops that share information, online courses, a plethora of how-to books—and they're using them! Gone are the days (at least in my recent experience) of receiving a manuscript where the entries are barely readable.

The romance market has matured, of course. The demand is greater but with this wider exposure come many more writers aspiring to write for such a popular market. Romance sales hold a huge share of overall book sales, and competition for a spot in the field has only increased—which naturally raises the quality. Editors not only have more to choose from, but they're more demanding and discriminating. They can afford to be, with so many people drawn to writing.

That's all the good news. The bad news is that my foray into judging has been mostly in the secular romance area, and the secular romance market has also developed over the years. What might have been considered racy twenty years ago, even ten, is merely tame these days.

If I've been asked to read something that I normally wouldn't choose for myself, I usually don't refuse to judge it. Only if it contains an aspect that I find blatantly insulting to my faith would I contact the coordinator and ask for the piece to be assigned another judge. But when judging secular writing, I don't refuse to read books that have more graphic sex or violence than I would otherwise choose to read. For one thing, the majority of secular books include these aspects and it's hard to volunteer as a judge without agreeing to read something containing such material. For another, and to me this is the more important argument, my faith is strong enough (and old enough) to read such things without feeling my spirit tugged downward. I judge the book for what it is: all of the entries in this particular contest are required to be a romance. Does the romance work? Is the writing engaging, even if the content isn't something I would normally read? Has the story convinced me that someone looking for this kind of secular book would be satisfied or pleased to read this? Has the writer done the job of telling a compelling, believable story, using all of the elements she's introduced without extraneous scenes, characters or subplots, and populate it with characters that touch the reader in some way?

Which are all, by the way, things I ask myself as I'm writing my own
stories . . .

So now I'm off to do some writing, and then a good deal of reading. This is one of those days when I feel truly blessed to be able to plan my days in such a way!

New Fiction!

2012-01-18T12:01:00.000-08:00

This week I'm pleased to introduce the latest book from author K. Dawn Byrd!

About the book:

Zoe's cousin Emma thinks she's the recipient of some sick jokewhen an old boyfriend she thought dead shows up on the internet. Can Zoe solvethe mystery that's causing Emma so much pain when her attraction to the townbad boy is so distracting?

When Zoe Mack moves in with her grandparents to start college, she's throwninto more mystery than she bargained for. Her cousin, Emma, is terrorized by astalker who breaks into her house and leaves a photo-shopped image of Emmahanging from a tree. Nothing is as it seems and Emma soon learns that even theman she thinks she can trust is suspect.

Zoe can't wait to reunite with Nate, the bad boy who doesn't talk about hisfeelings much, but the passionate kiss he gave her last summer had to havemeant something. When she arrives back in town and discovers that he's introuble with the law, she must take matters into her own hands in order toclear his name. She has her hands full with a needy Emma, a cop who gives herthe creeps, and Nate, the guy she desperately wants to call her own. Can Zoesolve the mystery, clear Nate's name, and make him fall in love with her?

About the author:

K. Dawn Byrd is an author ofinspirational romance and romantic suspense with five books published so far. Recently,she tried her hand at young adult fiction and found that she really enjoyedwriting it. Three books in the Zoe Mack Mystery Series are scheduled to releaseJanuary, June, and December 2012. Shattered Identity, the sequel to MistakenIdentity, will release in April.

K. Dawn Byrd is an avid blogger and givesaway several books per week on her blog at www.kdawnbyrd.blogspot.com, mostof which are signed by the authors. She's also the moderator of the popularfacebook Christian Fiction Gathering group at http://www.facebook.com/#!/group.php?gid=128209963444.

When not reading or writing, K. Dawn Byrdenjoys spending time with her husband of 16 years while walking their dogsbeside a gorgeous lake near her home and plotting the next story waiting to betold.

Links:

Website:www.kdawnbyrd.com

Blog:www.kdawnbyrd.blogspot.com and www.zoe-mack.blogspot.com

Twitter:kdawnbyrd

Booktrailer on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1aJrlR0fd4&context=C37a6c3aADOEgsToPDskI03937RSubxSN3pzKZqfrl

Q & A:

1) How did this story come to you?

SometimesI get the strangest ideas! I love a good mystery and I love romance, but youdon't find the two together very often. Also, there are very few booksavailable with college-age characters. I pitched the idea of combining all ofthe above to Desert Breeze and the rest is history.

2) Tell us about the journey to getting thisbook published.

I had alreadypublished several books with Desert Breeze when they opened a young adult line.I'm excited that they liked the idea for this new series.

3) Tell me three things about yourself thatwould surprise your readers.

1) I own two hairless Chinese Crested dogs.

2) I love sour things....pickles, lemons, sourcandy.

3) I used to ride a Harley, but gave it up inorder to have more time to write. (My husband always wanted to stay out way toolong and take the scenic route home. He still has his bike, but I don't missmine at all.)

4)What are you working on now and what'snext for you?

I just finished the edits on my Aprilrelease, Shattered Identity, which is the sequel to Mistaken Identity. I'm nowworking on the second book in the Zoe Mack series.

5)Partingcomments? Thank you for hosting me! For those of you who love Christianfiction, please check my blog for weekly book giveaways. I interview 3-5authors a week who give away their books. www.kdawnbyrd.blogspot.com

Eggzactly . . .

2012-01-16T05:53:00.000-08:00

This past weekend I happened to be tuned in to eggs. There are several reasons for this:

Whenever I've forgotten to defrost something for dinner, I usually resort to eggs. This happened last week. Hubby loves it when I add cheese and fresh mushrooms, zucchini, and dill, and my oldest son will eat eggs in nearly any way, shape or form, while youngest son likes them plain. Since I've started Weight Watchers (as it seems I do every January!) eggs have once again become one of my best friends.

I also watched a silly old Bob Hope movie—well actually I watched only part of it while I was folding laundry, and I can't even recall the title. But I saw enough to watch him accidentally run a grocery cart into a display bin of eggs. I found myself wondering why, even in the dark ages of the 1960s, any grocer would display loose eggs outside a refrigerator case… Which was why, perhaps, I didn't watch any more of the movie. It was just too contrived for a visual laugh (note to self: readers don't like contrived scenes any more than movie viewers do).

Then my husband read a news story to me about a disgruntled group of Chinese shoppers who were anxious to purchase the Apple iPhone 4S only to learn they'd already sold out. Eggs were thrown in protest. Without minimizing the seriousness of a riot, my husband just looked at me point blank and said "Who carries eggs around with them so they'd be handy to throw at an Apple Store? Does one friend say to another 'Let's go get our iPhones. And hey, don't forget the eggs."?

Which naturally led us to wonder how many other ways eggs have been involved in history. According to Wikipedia, egging has long been an unfortunate protest practice all over the world, mainly because eggs are cheap and they can do damage. Halloween, when it was solely a night of mischief, was a time when cars got soaped or egged. I also recall reading about traveling acting troupes who used to have rotten eggs or vegetables pelted at them if the performance didn't meet expectations.

So . . . do certain kinds of people just carry eggs around in their pockets, or what? Hmmm… Personally, I'd rather be pied. If someone's going to throw something at me, I'd rather lick that off my face than a raw egg. Preferably blueberry, if you please.

Then there are the phrases "egg on" and "egg on your face" and "lay an egg." One site I checked said the "egg on your face" phrase might harken back to the days poor actors were pelted with raw eggs. It also said the phrase "egg on" didn't necessarily trace back to being motivated to move if someone's about to lob an egg your way, although that may very well be true. It actually goes back to a Norse word "eggja" meaning to incite, stimulate or provoke. In this sense eggja also derived the word "edge" as in to "edge someone out." To "lay an egg" is obviously something we all want to avoid — a flop or failure. If it's used in sport team terms, that's been traced back to an egg being the shape of a zero . . . in other words, they didn't score.

Did you know egg shells contain pores that allow oxygen in and carbon dioxide out?
Egg production in the US — 75 billion per year — only accounts for 10 percent of the world's total. China produces the most eggs (390 billion, about half the world's supply). And turkeys lay eggs, too, but because turkey moms (is that a real term?) have stronger maternal instincts than chickens, those eggs are harder to collect. Turkeys take up more room to nest anyway, so they're just not economical to use. Those are just a couple of interesting facts I learned from a list of 12 Extraordinary Egg Facts.

And this, no doubt, is more than you ever wanted to know about eggs. But I do hope you have an egg-straordinary week!

A P.S. To Last Week's Readers: I'm so egg-cited! I bought the dress! So now I'm walking on clouds . . . until the bill comes in, when I'll be walking on egg shells.

Ready, Set, Stop!

2012-01-09T06:28:00.000-08:00

Picture this: A coach in a locker room just before game time gives the speech of a lifetime. The team is inspired to such a pitch they're ready to ram through a brick wall to prove their coach right to believe in them. The excitement of the anticipated competition builds to a loud, thunderous roar as every team member lets out their excess energy. The team rushes to the door, ready to OWN that field, only to stop dead in their tracks because someone mistakenly locked the door. All the energy and unity of purpose that was instilled in the team to beat the opponent is stymied.

Or this: A writer finishes the most inspiring scene in their work-in-progress. They're so pleased they share it with a friend who tells them it's the best thing they've ever written. The writer basks in the glow all evening, even dreaming up a new scene to follow with the next day. But they check their email first thing in the morning and see a response came from the agent or editor they'd been waiting to hear from. A rejection. No way is that follow-up scene going to be written today.

I guess it's easy to figure out which analogy is my husband's and which is mine. The reason this came up is that a Ready, Set, Stop situation happened to me the other day. Have I mentioned my daughter is getting married in just a couple of months? Although this is a day we've all been expecting literally for years, a lot of the plans couldn't have been made until recently.

One of the things I was looking forward to was buying the traditional "mother of the bride" dress. I knew I wanted to wait until after the holiday season because, like my mother before me, I'm frugal (that's the word she always used but all of us kids would tease her that she was just cheap).

Confident that my frugality would pay off, I went to several stores looking for the perfect dress. And while I did indeed find many sales, I also found the dresses remaining on the hangers after the holiday season are anything but unique, and some cheap in a way my mother never would have settled for.

But then, meeting my daughter at the very dress shop where her bridesmaids ordered their dresses, I tried on several gowns I hadn't seen anywhere else. They were lovely! But frankly, I was afraid to look at the price tags even as I assured myself they were on sale. An unavoidable glance at one tag told me unless the sale was substantial, I'd have to sell a whole lot of books to make a dent in a downpayment.

Then I saw it. A dress I'd noticed the first time I went to that little dressmaker shop, when the bridesmaids were ordering their dresses. It had been on a mannequin before the holidays, and I could see why the shop owner wanted to highlight it. I still can't tell you what aspect of the dress is lovelier: the style or the color. The beaded bolero draws the eye first, and the waistline is gathered off to the side, cascading into the most beautiful material I've seen yet. It's a golden turquoise—when you look at it from one angle, it appears gold, but from another, without changing the lighting, it appears turquoise. It's striking without being gaudy, classy without being ostentatious.

I was so ready. I was so set. Until I asked the price, including alterations.

I left the store without it, but the friendly shopkeeper assured me she'll hold it for me a few days while I go home and think it over. So here I am, counting my pennies…

Oh, dear. I want that dress.

By this time next week, I'll have made up my mind. I'll let you know!

2012: The End?

2012-01-02T07:08:00.000-08:00

One of the things people have in common, no matter their faith or culture, is an interest in things yet to come. Every generation has its prophets and seers, mainly because of the old supply and demand theory: if someone wants to hear (and pay) for a glimpse into the future, there will always be someone else trying to figure out a way to answer such a demand.

Perhaps not surprisingly, based on the way our culture only reports bad news, most of the prophecies over the years have been catastrophic. Everything from rather routine predictions for Armageddon to comets hitting earth to space aliens coming for a select few and the only way to meet the space ship is via suicide (ala Heavens Gate cult).

As one of my pastor's at church reminded us on New Year's Day, this year is no exception for doomsday predictions. The newest is, of course, the end of time as predicted by the centuries-old Mayan calendar, which some believe ends on December 21st of this year. I don't know much about the Mayan calendars, but I did read that time doesn't actually end on that day. The Mayans simply didn't use enough digits in their original computation. Evidently on December 21st the numbers, like on a car odometer when it turns 999,999, the numbers would flip back to zero and time—and the calendar—will simply go on. Remember Y2K when we all thought the world would descend into chaos because computers wouldn't recognize anything beyond two digits to keep track of the year? (Not Macs, just PCs.)

Then there is the Planet X scenario, with a previously unknown planet set to hit earth some time this year. Or sun flares that would be catastrophic to our atmosphere. Or a sudden switch in earth's magnetic fields.

Being married to a Physics teacher, not many of these predictions pass the giggle test. Amazingly, despite widespread access to reliable scientists, people still walk around with fears that science could easily dismiss. There is no possible chance a planet could be out there close enough to hit us that scientists wouldn't know about; the sun has been burning for five billion years, will burn for another five billion and is currently in its most stable phase. And while the magnetic fields have switched in the past, it happens every half million years or so and we might be due for another in the next few thousand years. In any case, it's not a sudden switch and involves a fading in and out that scientists continually monitor.

The Bible does predict the end of this earth as we know it, but it doesn't give an hour for such a thing to occur. There's obviously a reason for that: God wants us to trust Him not only with the little stuff, but with the big stuff as well. He doesn't want us to stop serving the Kingdom by being fooled that the end is near.

I rarely make New Year's Resolutions, so all I'll say is to keep moving forward with your eyes on Heaven!

And Happy New Year!

After Christmas . . . Let Down?

2011-12-26T07:06:00.000-08:00

The day after Christmas has always been a little bit sad. After all, the anticipation part of the big day is over. Only New Year's to look forward to, and for a non-partier like me that's not much of a holiday.

Normally I spend weeks preparing for Christmas. I like to bake, and every year I make at least a dozen varieties—often more than one batch because I take a big box to my publisher, Tyndale House, which is local to me. Then I make more cookies for holiday gatherings and family to enjoy.

Like everyone else, I spend weeks shopping for and wrapping gifts. Buying several gifts for each member of the family is a tradition I grew up with. My parents didn't have a lot of money but with six kids they still managed to fill up the space below the Christmas tree with all kinds of things. Most only cost a few dollars—but it was the fun of seeing so many wrapped presents and wondering what they could be, then opening them, that was half the fun. Added to the pile were little gifts each of us kids would buy for each other. Lots of little but thoughtful presents are the tradition in my family, one I've tried to carry on even as it's become harder to keep the cost reasonable.

Then there is a special Christmas meal, preparing something that's a bit out of the ordinary or a little more lavish than the everyday cooking that usually goes on around here. My bathroom scale attests to the fact that around the days leading up to and including Christmas are filled with lots of fun calories.

But now the days ahead will get back to "normal." Apart from the relief that the number on that scale shouldn't keep going up (but hopefully back down once the last cookie disappears!) it's a bit of a let down to have the festivities over and done.

Perhaps the European way is better. I've heard in Germany they celebrate St. Nicholas Day (December 6th) with gifts for the children, but Christmas Day is reserved for more spiritual reflection. My family does read about the birth of Christ from Luke, and we used to have a birthday cake for Jesus—a tradition I've let go in the last couple of years because there were already so many sweets in the house.

Christmas in this country is what it is: material, commercialized, secularized in so many ways. Some of the traditions I carry on and will no doubt continue to carry on reflect that. But on this day after Christmas, instead of feeling let down that it's all over, the older I get and the faster this day seems to come each year, I realize this day after is perhaps every bit as wonderful as those leading up to yesterday. This is the day I take time to thank God for so many blessings in my life—I saw them on the faces in my family. And this morning when I walked the dog, when the sun was just a promise in the sky, it lit the frost on the grass and rooftops the most spectacular shade of bluish green that instead of walking I nearly wanted to get down on my knees to thank God for the blessing of creation.

Life really is a miracle, and now with my days ready to return to the life He gave me I'm saying Thank You! And on with life as usual . . .

Christmas Reflections

2011-12-19T07:49:00.000-08:00

With just a few days before Christmas, it seems almost impossible to think of anything except the holiday. Because of our culture, it's a season of busyness. Decorations to be hung, cards to address, parties to attend, baking to do, presents to wrap… But as a Christian, I can't help but believe this time of the year should also be a time of reflection. Not limited to reflections of Christmases past (a la A Christmas Carol) but also to reflect — at least for a moment — on what started this whole season to begin with.

Over the weekend I heard an actress mention that, because she was Jewish she only celebrated Christmas as a cultural holiday. She said she grew up with a tree and exchanged gifts, but her family wasn't at all religious. Yet even from this she made the point of saying Christmas was still spiritual, even for her. I can't help but believe it's spiritual because of the underlying message we all hear at Christmas, at least if we listen to any of the older Christmas songs or watch any classics: that of sacrifice. You can't listen to songs like Joy To The World or Silent Night without remembering Christ.

Perhaps because of the season my own life, reflection is coming easier this year. My father died several years ago, and my mother followed two years later. After my mother died, my Christmas family traditions changed. This is a common occurrence for people who've lost their parents around my age, and an underlying layer that adds to our grief: sure change is ahead. Parents are often the glue that holds an extended family together, and when that goes away we're left with our immediate family. Nice, but smaller. Different.

And so as I slowly establish new traditions, remember but grieving some that are forever lost, it leaves a bit more room to turn my attention to what this season is supposed to be all about. Not Santa Claus, but about the Christ who gave up heaven to be born in a stable, the Christ who suffered rejection and a cruel death. Not so much the gifts I give or receive but the currency attached to another kind of gift that my pastor talked about at church this weekend: by being generous in ways that will glorify God.

So here's my thought for the week: I pray the busyness of the season won't drown out the truth of this season, that God so loved the world that He gave His only Son for us.

If you have a moment, here's Josh Groban singing O Holy Night, with scenes from The Nativity Story. Take a few minutes to reflect . . . and enjoy!

Merry Christmas!

A Sneak Peek at my Newest Cover!

2011-12-12T05:41:00.000-08:00

There are many things an author can be excited about during the course of a writing career. New ideas that spark an entire story or unique character. Having the pieces of a plot fit together as if we’d designed it that way from the start (that’s usually not the case with seat-of-the-pants writers). Sharing our work with others, from family to editors to reviewers to readers across the world.

Ranking with all of that is the first moment an author gets to see the cover—the presentation of a visual interpretation of our story. From a marketing point of view, this is of course one of the most important selling features a book possesses.

To start with, covers need to express information, such as if the book is contemporary or historical. But more than that, it should indicate the kind of book. What genre? Obviously the portrayal of a romance will be different from that of a horror novel. The use of light is especially important here, the book’s first promise of what the pages contain.

But covers, to an author, are far more than a selling tool. The picture on the front should evoke an emotional response that captures a little of the emotion the story strives to convey. It should invite the reader in, make them look forward to an experience with a whole new cast of characters in a setting they’re either curious about or already know they would enjoy.

Because of the importance of that image, authors usually feel more than a little anticipation when it comes to seeing our cover for the first time. I know we need to trust the experts on this, those with far more experience in marketing than most authors, but it nonetheless feels like part of the personal investment we put into our work—only it’s one we often times don’t have much control over. We create the story, but in traditional publishing we don’t create the cover.

Despite the fact that I’m so rarely disappointed with the cover art from my publisher, every time I receive an email from my editor containing the first draft of the cover direction, I open that particular email with a little prayer.

This time I already knew what the model portraying my heroine, Meg, would be wearing. Going on information from the book, the Tyndale design team scouts costume and vintage dress shops for something that might fit. Here is a picture of the dress they used for my character to wear:

Full length view

When my editor shared this picture with me, we were both excited because it immediately reminded both of us of a specific scene from the book.

Isn't the detailing gorgeous?

Here’s the description of what Meg will be wearing to an outdoor concert, circa early 1880s in Central Park, New York City. See if you think it’s a perfect fit:

The afternoon was warm and so Meg chose the lightest of her white muslin dresses, the sheerest lace gloves, the smallest hat of straw with the tiniest paper flower embellishment. The trees were still young in the Ramble where the concert was to be played, so there would be little shade. In deference to the close proximity of seating she would bring her most petite parasol of brushed chiffon, the one trimmed simply in lace rather than fringe that might otherwise impede the view of someone nearby. A delicately carved white wood fan was an absolute must.

And so with the sheer lace and addition of the perfect gloves, here is what the wonderful Tyndale cover design team came up with:

What would you say this book expresses? Romance, I hope, because of the lovely young model portraying my heroine. It’s the first of my new Gilded Age series, so the warm, inviting gold shining from the background hints the era. My heroine is also an avid gardener—specializing in gardens known to attract butterflies—so having her tending the roses is a perfect touch!

Needless to say, I’m so excited about this newest addition to the family. I have a few months to go for delivery of this one, with a June release date, but if this past year is any indication of how quickly time passes, the next few months will speed by!

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-12-07T18:13:00.001-08:00

This week I'm pleased to present a novella by my friend Hannah Alexander. It sounds like a nail-biter, so let's escape some of the holiday stress for some heart-racing suspense—with a happy ending, of course! With that extra adrenaline we'll for sure tackle that holiday to-do list. :-)

Silent Night, Deadly Night, novella by Hannah Alexander included in Season of Danger anthology by Love Inspired Suspense

Release date December 2011

A little about the story:

After the murder of Tess Vance's fiance, Tess leaves her career as a musical talent agent and retreats home to her brother's rescue mission for the homeless in Corpus Christi, Texas. She finds solace helping others, and peace with ex-cop Sean Torrance, who has also endured great pain over the past year. Just as they begin to think life will settle for them, and their friendship will deepen into something more lasting, Tess finds herself the subject of a stalking, and the stalker hurts her by hurting and killing those she loves, including the homeless.

All of Sean's protective instincts rise to the top when the woman he has grown to love finds herself in danger once again. He'll do whatever it takes to protect her and the others he works with at the mission. As the owner and manager of one of the top radio stations in the region, he finds a way to stop the attacks, but it will mean betraying her trust. Can their relationship withstand the conflict?

About the Author:

Hannah Alexander is the pen name for the writing collaboration of Cheryl and Mel Hodde. They chose the name "Hannah Alexander" to incorporate their two names into one. They have read that Hannah means "her hope is in the Lord," and Alexander means, "servant of mankind." Mel and Cheryl live in the Missouri Ozarks, where they like to set the majority of their books.

Hannah Alexander website www.hannahalexander.com

Click here to purchase on Amazon.

What's the best part of your day?

2011-12-05T04:26:00.001-08:00

My husband likes to start his day with a brisk cup of coffee, so first thing in the morning, before he goes in to the classroom, he enjoys the flavor of the moment before spending the rest of the day on his feet performing in front of the students.

Drinking coffee isn't a habit I picked up, despite having had two parents who both enjoyed the brew. However, starting in the cool months and going on through late spring, I particularly enjoy a cup of hot chai tea latte. So as I sit down at the computer in the morning to write, I have my own favorite flavor moment.

Our beverage of choice delights our taste buds, warms our insides, and gives us a moment to prepare for the day.

The hours ahead are a blank slate waiting to be filled with our work. My husband can either be thrilled or frustrated over his efforts with the students, depending on how lessons, experiments and demos are received. For me, my insights come either from the research I do on whatever project I'm immersed in, perhaps learning a new perspective from reading, or from moving forward in the writing process to see where the characters will take me . What will the day unfold? Who knows! But it's bound to be different from the one before, for both my husband and for me.

But as my husband likes to say, that moment sipping our favorite beverage is the best of the day. It's all downhill from there. Reality sets in. Too often, students don't want to be enlightened, or characters refuse to play out whatever scene should come next. Unexpected distractions come along, time fillers and wasters, so that an hour might go by with nothing of value to show for it.

Of course, both of us have days where everything just seems to fit. On those days that delicious start is followed by a sense of accomplishment and achievement, of progress and satisfaction. Which of course feeds into future first-thing-in-the-morning hopes when we'll savor another day ahead, hoping that moment isn't the highlight even if that's what it turns out to be. Because no matter how the day goes, at least we started it out with a pleasant moment!

That's life from a morning person's perspective. Since both of us are morning people, I know only from two of my late-nighter children that such morning moments don't seem to exist. For them the day only gets interesting in the evening, and if they could they would stay up until well into the night, sleeping away whatever is left of any moments containing an "a.m.".

I wonder what the split is? Are there more morning people in the world, or those who are energized as the day dwindles? Which are you?

Having officially started my day with my latte at my side, I'm going to get to work. Revisions today, on my spring release Bees In The Butterfly Garden. I hope you'll check back next Monday when I reveal the new cover. I keep saying each new cover is the most beautiful one I've received yet, and this is no exception. It really is gorgeous, and I hope you'll agree!

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-11-30T04:38:00.001-08:00

This week's feature is from my friend Margaret Daley. Try to make some time this season to escape into a holiday tale!

A note from Margaret:

When I decided to write a series about a town that goes througha hurricane, I wanted to give tribute to all the people who have gone through adisaster and rebuilt their lives. This series was written for the heroes andheroines who help others in a time of disaster.

A little bit about His HolidayFamily by Margaret Daley:

When Hurricane Naomi tearsthrough a small Mississippi town, a daring rescue unites two heroes. NurseKathleen Hart is a single mom racked by guilt over her husband's death.Firefighter Gideon O'Brien—orphaned as a young boy—has lost too many people hecared for. To rise above the storm's devastation, Gideon helps Kathleen and hersons rebuild their home. As Christmas approaches, they discover that even thestrongest of storms can't destroy a romance built on the foundation of faith.

Excerpt from His HolidayFamily:

Gideon O'Brien hopped downfrom Engine Two and assessed the chaos in front of him. Strapping on his airpack, he started toward his captain. A hand gripped his arm and stopped hisforward progress. He turned toward the blonde woman who held him, her largeblue eyes glistening with tears. She looked familiar, but he couldn't placewhere he knew her from. His neighbor's daughter, perhaps?

"My two sons and mycousin—their babysitter—must still be inside. I don't see them outside with theother tenants." Her voice quivered. She tightened her hand on his arm andscanned the crowd. "I'm Kathleen Hart. My sons are Jared and Kip. I triedSally's cell but she didn't answer. Please get them out." A tear slippeddown her cheek.

"Where arethey?" Gideon moved toward his captain, his palm at the small of her back,guiding her in the direction he wanted her to go. Yes, he realized, she was hisneighbor Ruth Coleman's daughter.

"Sally's second-floorapartment is on the east side, the fourth one down on your right. Number 212.Hurry." Her round eyes fastened on the fire consuming the three-storyapartment building on Magnolia Street.

Gideon paused in front ofCaptain Fox. "Mrs. Hart says her sons and babysitter are still inside.Pete and I can go in and get them." He looked toward the west end of thelarge structure where the men of Engine One were fighting the flames eatingtheir way through the top level. "There's still time."

"Okay." Hiscaptain surveyed the east end. "But hurry. It won't be long before thiswhole building goes up."

The scent of smoke hungheavy in the air. The hissing sound of water hitting Magnolia Street Apartmentsvied with the roar of the blaze.

Gideon turned toward themother of the two boys. "We'll find them." He gave her a smile thensearched the firefighters for Pete.

When Gideon found him afew feet away, he covered the distance quickly. "Let's go. There are threepeople trapped on the second floor. East end."

At the main entrance intothe building Gideon fixed his mask in place, glancing back at the blonde womanstanding near his captain. He had seen that same look of fear and worry manytimes over his career as a firefighter. He wouldn't let anything happen to hersons and Sally.

Gideon switched on hisvoice amplifier and headed into the furnace with Pete following close behindhim. Through the thick cloud suspended from the ceiling in the foyer, thestairs to the second floor loomed. Crouching, he scrambled up the steps. Thehigher he went, the hotter it became.

Whew! What a place to stop. Happy Reading, all!

God Makes Everything Beautiful

2011-11-28T04:44:00.001-08:00

One of the themes behind the novel I’m currently working on deals with the consequence of sin. Cheery subject, isn’t it? That’s book writing for you. There’s no story without conflict.

My 1880s hero is living an isolated life as a consequence of his sin. He stole quite a bit of money in his youth, and has lived with the secret ever since. His sin was never discovered—well, at least not yet—and so the consequences he’s living with are entirely self-imposed.

In contrast, my flawed but virtuous heroine’s goal is to offer a place of refuge and shelter to women who’ve had to resort to prostitution in a time and place when women had few choices. Many of the women she wants to minister to are dealing with consequences of their sin, but some have suffered misfortune because of someone else’s sin. In other words, they’ve found themselves thrust into such a life not because they wanted it, but because they had no other choice.

That’s what I’m finding so sadly interesting. That people can suffer consequences but not always because of their own doing. I think that’s one of the reasons there are not only bitter people in the world, but unbelieving ones: the problem of suffering. Why does God allow good people to suffer? Children? The innocent?

Scholars have attempted to answer this question for generations, and one way of looking at it is that God set up a faith-based system of life, one that includes free will. Choice and freedom can bring good and wonderful things, but it can also bring the opposite. On a grand scale, sin is what started all of the problems of this world. On an individual scale, sometimes either our choices or the choices of others bring suffering. But faith is the greatest benefit—either we choose to love God or we don’t. Without that free will there would be no choice at all, and apparently with imperfect human beings you can’t have free will without suffering.

While I was contemplating this subject, I heard a song from Rebecca St. James about how God makes everything beautiful—even our pain and failures. Somehow I found that comforting, both personally and for my character’s sake. The phrase helped me see that if we reach out to God in our suffering, it becomes a sacred moment. Something precious to Him, because it becomes a tool to draw us closer to Him.

The song begins by reminding us of how easy it is to worship a God as generous as ours, one Who has given us so many natural gifts. We see Him in sunrises and sunsets, in the beauty and variety of plants and animals around us. I even see Him in the wag of my dog’s tail—what a profound gift!

But this song made me see that He can also make those hard moments in life beautiful, too, because it’s perhaps in those moments when He is the most real to us. And that’s as beautiful to Him as it should be to us.

One last thought before clicking on the song: There is absolutely nothing beautiful in the suffering Christ did on the cross—if that was all it was. But it wasn’t just a brutal death, it was a complete and utter sacrifice of a God Who loves what He created. Us. And in that is utter beauty.

Here’s the song. I know you’ll enjoy it!

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-11-23T05:38:00.001-08:00

This week I'm pleased to tell you about Pamela Meyers new book, Thyme for Love. I met Pam through American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) a number of years ago, and have always appreciated not only her servant's heart but her diligent journey toward publication. She's a wonderful writer and is a testimony to how the path to publication can be longer and more winding than most of us expect. But sticking with it is the key!

Here's a little about Pam and the first of her books, with many more to come:

April Love has always dreamed of being a chef.
But she didn’t expect her former fiancé
or murder to be part of the recipe for her new job.

When April Love signs on to be an in-house chef at an old lakeshore mansion in Canoga Lake, Wisconsin, she comes face to face with her long-lost love, the drop-dead gorgeous Marc Thorne. It doesn’t take long for their old magnetism to recharge, but how can she trust the guy who left her nearly at the altar eight years earlier? Her gut tells her something happened to Marc in between—something he’s reluctant to reveal.

When April’s boss is murdered, Marc is accused of the crime. Unless April can find out who really killed Ramón Galvez, her chances for love will end up at the county jail. But someone else is just as determined she not solve the mystery…and will go to any length to stop her.

A native of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, Pamela S. Meyers currently lives in the Chicago area. She served on the Operating Board for ACFW 2005-2009, and is president of her local ACFW chapter. Her debut novel Thyme for Love released November 14, 2011, and her historical that is set in her hometown, Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, will release in June 2012. She has published articles in Today’s Christian Woman, Christian Computing, Victory in Grace, and Ancestry. She is also a contributor in the compilation book, His Forever.

Here's a book trailer about Thyme for Love:

To purchase Thyme for Love, click here.

Happy Reading!

Thankful for: Galena!

2011-11-21T06:19:00.001-08:00

Can you believe it’s the start of a yet another holiday season? My mother warned me time gets faster the older you get, and looking at the calendar to see another year is almost over reminds me of that truth.

As a quick getaway before all of the holiday craziness begins, I sneaked away for a few days to a little resort town in Illinois. Chances are you’ve heard of it, particularly if you know anything about the 18th president of the United States: Ulysses S. Grant. He wasn’t born in Galena (Ohio has that claim to fame) but he moved to Galena during his civilian years to work with his father and brother in the family leather business.

When the Civil War began, Grant helped recruit many volunteers to fight for the Union—and trained them in this little yard not far from his first home in Galena. Grant became one of nine Union generals from the bustling town of Galena.
Because of Grant’s success in the Civil War, a group of wealthy, grateful citizens of the town presented Grant a home. He later ran his presidential campaign from this location. Of course when he won (two terms) he moved to the White House, but he visited Galena often after his retirement. By then he mainly lived in New York City, where he died of throat cancer at only sixty-three years of age. He’s buried in NYC. Remember the old "trick" question about who’s buried in Grant’s Tomb? Evidently the correct answer is no one, since his body is above ground in the tomb so he’s technically not “buried” at all.

The famous Nast portrait of Lee surrendering to Grant, ending the Civil War, hangs in the Galena History museum.

Did you know this is one of several artist renditions of this moment, but not a single one is entirely accurate? There was no artist or early tintype photographer present at the surrender, so it’s drawn from the artist’s imagination. The museum offered three other renditions, none so famous as the Nast painting, but each one was different. One had only a few people in attendance, one had so many they were clamoring at the door for a peek. A portrait of George Washington hangs on the wall in one version, as if to say the father of the United States is pleased and relieved to be watching over such a momentous occasion. Another painting, although historically inaccurate because they knew the event took place indoors, depicts the scene on a field with both armies in attendance—showing gaunt Confederate soldiers in tattered uniforms opposite well fed Union soldiers dressed in crisp uniforms astride fresh, strong horses. Artists do like to slip messages in, don’t we . . . I mean, they?
The oldest operational Post Office in the United States is in Galena. There are older post office buildings in the East, but none are still in operation.

And this . . . well, I guess I had gardens on the brain when I snapped this picture, perhaps because of my upcoming 2012 release, Bees In The Butterfly Garden. I’m not sure I’d use this birdcage gazebo in any future garden stories, but I thought it was an interesting addition to the yard of a Victorian B&B.

Galena was the busiest steamboat port between St. Louis and St. Paul (the latter of which I learned used to be called Pig’s Eye, after a bootlegger! But I digress…) In the mid 1800s Galena boasted a much larger population than Chicago, and many believed at the time it would continue to be the largest city in Illinois. But with the advent of train travel, Chicago became the railroad hub and steamboat travel dwindled. Once lead mining faded as well, Galena seemed destined for desertion. It wasn't until the 1960s that the town began protecting its many historic buildings in the town and in the 80s directed its efforts toward a resort attraction. It’s now the second most visited attraction in Illinois—after Chicago, of course.

When Details, Schmeetails Become Details, DETAILS

2011-11-14T04:38:00.001-08:00

This past week you might have heard about the major league baseball player, catcher Wilson Ramos from the Washington Nationals, who was kidnapped from outside his mother's house in Venezuela. When I first heard about the story I thought it would be something my husband would want to know about, since he follows baseball.

So . . . during his daily phone call from work, I casually asked if he'd heard about a baseball player who'd been kidnapped? My husband was immediately intrigued. Who was kidnapped? Was he a major league player? What team does he play for?

Well, I'd only barely listened to the report and all I knew at the time was the bare minimum. A baseball player had been kidnapped . . . in Venezuela, I think . . . and he was wearing a red jersey uniform in the pictures. Definitely a major league player, whose name or team of course I did not know.

To me all that was detail, schmeetail. I fully expected my husband to know all about the story before I even brought it up, but when he didn't he was looking for real details. None of which I had.

After a quick online search he had the information he wanted, and so I went back to what I'd been doing before. Researching my current work-in-progress. Now that's where details need to be details!

All of this reminded me of how important my attitude is regarding the little things to make any story come alive. As I mentioned recently, I was having some challenges in finding unique material for my 1880s Denver setting. I easily found some big-picture material, but I was looking for in depth particulars.

My Inspirational set in Colorado might not be the first out there—but I want it to appear as if it is. I want a clear, specific image of everyday life. Not just what the city looked like, but what people who lived back then would have smelled and eaten and heard, how they voted and what they did for music, entertainment and work. What were the issues that concerned them? What would they have been talking about? Shopping for? Arguing about? Laughing about?

My online searches started out broad (Denver history 1880) but gradually became more focused (history of Market Street, for example). During one such search, I was led to a group of self-published books that looked promising. With my order of a couple of the books, I was able to exchange emails directly with the author.

It turns out he is a professor with extensive knowledge of the era I'm interested in. Although he's researched several books in various parts of the west, he was able to point me in the direction of some wonderful new resources. Now I have a plethora of historical detail that will not only help my setting come alive, but will broaden and deepen my original — rather sketchy — plot outline.

And I'm enjoying every minute of it!

PS If you don't already know, you'll be glad to hear Mr. Ramos was successfully rescued from his kidnappers.

What Life Isn't

2011-11-07T05:16:00.000-08:00

The older I get, the more I realize I know more about whatlife isn’t than what it is. Perhaps that’s because age betterdefines limitations. With youth, there seem to be endless choices—even ones wemake for “somewhere down the road.” Perhaps after age fifty, we know we’realready well down that road and if by now we haven’t done some of what we thought we might do, we’re not likely to do it.

I know my life wasn’t created for my own happiness. Does Godwant His children happy? Of course—in between those times when we’re not, whenwe’re leaning on Him, learning, growing, having our eyes turned to Him ortoward someone else.

I also know hope isn’t something to be treated lightly. It’sa fragile thing, one that we all need on the big scale (the hope of Heaven, forexample) but sometimes hope can be a tool used against our current wellbeing. Ican hope for something but if that’s all I do, the days without what I hope forwill only seem longer. For example, I hope for a cure for Fragile X (thedisorder my son suffers) but if I focused only on that, these fifteen yearsI’ve been hoping for it so far might have left me soured by now. So I hopeloosely in the “now” but ultimately in the sure cure he’ll have in heaven.

Sometimes the life we have isn’t a perfect match for oursurroundings – you might be a perfect tree for your climate but you may not beplanted in the right soil. Craggy, sandy, overused . . . the tree can stillgrow, but will it thrive? We don’t always feel like we fit where God has placedus. Sometimes we can grow into it, but sometimes we’re there for a purpose wecan’t easily understand. Sometimes we only understand it in retrospect.

About those dreams of life. Even fulfilled dreams aren’t alwayswhat we really need, and sometimes nothaving them filled is the right thing for us. I recently went to see the movie“Moneyball” with my son and husband,and its depiction of how players are used or traded made me feel like thepublishing world, at least in comparison, is the most secure business on earth—afact anyone in the business regularly doubts. But it made me glad my husband’syouthful dreams of playing baseball professionally never came to be.

And as much as most people want every day life to be deep,relationally defined and community-oriented, much of life is superficial. Wewant to recognize and be drawn to beauty on the inside but our first impressionis normally on what’s outside. We want to look deeper, and if given the chancewe’re usually rewarded. But I think it’s age that levels things out for us andthose around us, so we more readily develop an eye for what’s underneath.

Life isn’t easy, but we knew that from our first, cryingbreath, didn’t we? However, even though the highs and lows might be morememorable, the real stuff of life is found in moments like this. When we’rejust sitting, recognizing our own attitude for what it is: generally good orgenerally bad. Can we change from a generally bad one to a generally good one?I don’t know. Some say we’re born with our basic personalities already inplace, pessimist or optimist, melancholy or cheerful. I do know we can trainour actions, though, and when they’re generally good, generally good feelingsfollow.

I also know this: whatever state we’re in won’t lastforever. The good news is if we’re in an unhappy season, this too shall pass.The bad news, of course, is the same can be said if we’re in a happy season . ..

So with that in mind, here’s to a steady-as-you-go kind ofday!

I'll leave you today with a song about the stuff of life from one of my favorite Christian artists:

Are You Happy?

2011-10-31T08:39:00.000-07:00

I recently read a quote from Thomas Edison that basicallysaid only the most insincere person calls himself happy.

Whoa! Someone as creative, accomplished and wealthy as Mr.Edison said when you scratch beneath the surface, no one is really happy? How can that be true?

He explained that even those people we’d assume to be happystill live wanting something. Putanother way, as one of my husband’s favorite quotes go - We have a choice: wecan be deluded, we can live addicted to something (anything from sports todrugs) or we can live with an ache. (From the book Wild at Heart by John Eldredge.) I guess Mr. Eldredge has something incommon with Mr. Edison.

I consider myself a basically happy person, and I believethat’s the façade I impart to others. My needs of health and security are meton a daily basis, for which I am grateful to both God and my husband. But likeanyone who lives and breathes and is old enough to have acquired a littlediscernment, if you look beneath the surface of course there are things thatcan make me profoundly sad.

I’ve always said God didn’t create us for our own happiness.We’re a natural reflection of His glory, simply because each one of us is amiracle. The Bible says He’s pleased when what we do reflects Him and His love, so wecan point others toward His love. But the Bible doesn’t say anything about having beencreated for us to fill our own desires.

God created us as complex creatures. I’m not sure we’re evermeant to experience just one emotion for any length of time. We can be happyfor a season, or we can be sad. Sometimes, somehow, we can be both at the sametime.

I do think there are ways we can improve our happinessquotient. Here are some ways I “practice” happiness:

I reflect on the things God has done—for me. Beyond salvation, those things in my life that bring mecloser to Him. Even with the ache I live with, having Fragile X in my life,I’ve seen God bringing me closer to Him through the experience. (See the Blessingssong at the bottom of last Monday’s post!)

Reflect on how God coordinates the details of my life. Heoften wants to teach or help me and I’ll start hearing a “theme” from unrelateddirections: my pastor will talk about a topic that happens to fit what I’mworking on in my stories, or I’ll hear a song that aptly ministers or helps meto define some emotion or challenge I’m facing. Or I’ll be reading the Bibleand something that fits so perfectly to my situation jumps off the page. OrI’ll hear a news story, or someone will mention something to me that fits aneed. Coincidence? Or God’s coordination?

I look at creation; without a single word spoken, creation revealsthe love of our creative and powerful God.

I try to eat right and exercise. Believe it or not, thisreally does make a difference in so many areas of life. Sometimes just taking abrisk walk can improve my mood.

I let music or a book or a movie minister to me. Sometimesescaping for a few hours is exactly what I need.

Pray. I ask God what He wants me to learn, and for Him to help mehand over my worries to Him.

Helping someone else almost always improves my mood.

Work on something I love, which fortunately for me is what Iget to do with my days, and that’s to write.

These are just some of the things that come to mind for me,but there are many other sources of happiness that life provides. I hope youcan take a moment to ponder what makes you happy, and then have a happy day!

New Fiction!

2011-10-27T04:55:00.000-07:00

Here's the latest from my friend Gail Gaymer Martin - and it's a bonus: two stories in one! I don't know about the weather around you, but up here in Chicagoland there has been a definite nip in the air lately. No wonder the stores are already putting out their Christmas decorations. Here's something to help get you in the spirit - just looking at the cover makes me want to start humming a Christmas tune.

CHRISTMAS GIFTS
including Small Town Christmas
Love Inspired Duet - November 2011

Mini-Matchmakers And An Old Fashion Christmas

When the new second grade teacher, Amy Carroll, meets the precocious twin sisters, she knows she has her hands full, but when she learns they live on the street where she is staying with her grandmother and they have a single father who is handsome and needs help, Amy’s hands are beyond full. But Amy’s from Chicago and falling in love with a small town man is not part of her plan. Can God waylay Amy’s desire to return to the big city? Can Mike Russett open his heart to love?

Martin’s story contains strong characters and touching scenes - Romantic Times

Multi-award-winning novelist, Gail Gaymer Martin writes Christian fiction for Love Inspired and Barbour Publishing, where she was honored by Heartsong readers as their Favorite Author of 2008. Gail has forty-nine contracted novels with over three million books in print. She is the author of Writers Digest’s Writing the Christian Romance. Gail is a co-founder of American Christian Fiction Writers, a keynote speaker at churches, libraries and civic organizations and presents workshops at conference across the US. She was recently named one of the four best novelists in the Detroit area by CBS local news.

This duet novel also includes Brenda Minton's Her Christmas Cowboy

Available in all stores where books are sold
To Purchase online click link: here

Excerpt Chapter 1

“Mrs. Fredericks.” The office secretary leaned into the room. “Mr. Russet is here to see you.”

“The twins father.” A heavy sigh whisked the air. “Ask him to wait a moment.”

Amy took another step toward the door. No doubt the sigh signaled trouble.

“Please wait a moment, Miss Carroll. “The twins will be in your class. It might help you to meet the girls. They have a propensity for getting into trouble.” She motioned.

“They’re right across the hall in the cafeteria. It’ll give you a heads-up for Monday.”
Trouble. Amy swallowed. “I suppose that would be. . .practical.”

“Yes, and you’ll keep an eye on them while I talk with their father.” She chuckled and motioned her to follow.

Amy followed her across the hall and spotted the girls seated on each side of a cafeteria bench, cuter and sweeter looking than she’d imagined. Though not identical twins, their features were similar with bright Caribbean blue eyes.

The child with a tawny ponytail swung her legs over the bench. “It wasn’t me, Mrs. Fredericks.”

“Yes, it was.” The blonder twin slipped from her seat, her hair gathered into a ponytail on each side of her head. “Holly tore up my drawing in art class.”

“Please sit for a moment.” She gestured to the benches. “I want you to meet someone.”

They scrutinized Amy with a mix of speculation and determination. “Miss Carroll. This young lady is Holly.” She rested her hand on the one with honey brown hair and the deep frown. “And this is Ivy.”

Ivy gazed at her, curiosity written on her face.

Holly and Ivy? Amy wondered. She stepped closer. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Neither responded.

Mrs. Fredericks eyed them. “Miss Carroll will be your new teacher on Monday.”
Holly’s ponytail flipped as she swivelled toward Amy while Ivy stared at her wide-eyed.

“I’ll leave you with Miss Carroll, and you can have a nice talk.” She turned to Amy. “I’ll be back shortly.” She strode away but paused before exiting. “When I return, I’ll introduce you to the girl’s father. I’m sure you’d like that.”

“Our dad?” Two voices rang in unison.

Amy wasn’t sure she wanted her first parental contact to be with an irritated father, but she offered a nod. When she turned, the twins were peering at her again, Holly with her arms crossed at her chest and Ivy with her fist jammed into her waist.

She slipped around the end of the bench and sat at the table. Behind those sweet faces, Amy sensed sadness. She looked from one girl to the other. “What are you doing in the cafeteria.”

Holly looked away. “Mrs. Fredericks made us sit here.”

“Hmm?” Amy tapped her finger against her cheek. “I wonder why?”

Ivy bit her lip. “Kids who misbehave have to sit in here and wait.”

Holly’s frown deepened. “I didn’t do anything bad.”

Ivy pressed her face closer to Holly’s, her look searing through her sister. “You tore up my drawing.”

“But you said it wasn’t any good.”
Ivy fell back to her seat. “If I wanted to tear it up, I would have done it.”

“That’s right, Ivy.” Amy focused on Holly, monitoring her tone. “What kind of pictures were you drawing?”

Holly’s shoulders relaxed. “Pictures of Pilgrims and Indians for our social studies.”
Amy nodded. “For Thanksgiving.” Blending learning with fun was good classroom planning.

“Uh-huh, and. . .” A movement by the door caught her attention.

“Daddy.” The girls shot from the bench and ran to a harried looking man who stood inside the doorway, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

Amy’s heart gave a twinge. A five o’clock shadow encompassed his lean jaw, his chestnut hair tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it many times. His straight eyebrows stretched above his caramel brown eyes, flashing with emotion.

He rocked on his heels. “You must be Miss Carroll, the new teacher.” He strode toward her. “I’m the girls’ father, Mr. Russet. It’s nice to met you.” Frustration winked behind his pleasant grin.

Amy met him halfway while the twins hovered at his side. She dropped her palm into his, aware of his warm grip. “Good to meet you, too.”

Behind him Mrs. Fredericks grinned. “I’ll see you on Monday, Miss Carroll.” She gave her a wave and vanished.

When she looked back, the man studied her with curiosity. “I’m sure we’ve met.”

Amy drew back. “Met?”

“Years ago at Ellie Carroll on Lake Street.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Amy’s memory gave a tug.

“We live across the street.” The twins voices melded together.

“She stood bewildered.

His grin widened. “Maybe eleven years ago.”

“I don’t think so.” Yet a memory shimmered in her mind. “I was eighteen then.”

“I was twenty-three, working as a handyman.” He grinned. “Maybe you’ll remember me as Mike.”

“Mike?” The recollection jarred her. “You dug out Grams old shrubbery and planted new ones.” She pictured him in the summer sun, his muscles flexing while his shirt hung on a deer ornament in the tree-sheltered yard.

“The same.”

Amy studied his face. His unruly hair hadn’t changed. She remembered how it ruffled in the breeze, his lean handsome face taut with concentration. She’d flirted with him. But when she went inside, her grandmother notified her he was newly married. Heat rose up Amy’s neck with the recollection. She hoped he didn’t remember she’d toyed with him.

God-Inspired Fodder

2011-10-24T05:20:00.000-07:00

One of the most exciting things about being a writer is whenpieces of the real world around me fit, reflect, teach or enhance various partsof whatever project I happen to be working on.

I’ll hear about a principle that one of my charactersstruggles with, or a song that reflects something one of my characters mightfeel.

These little nuggets—when real life and fictionintersect—are what fuels fiction. It makes the setting, the circumstances, thecharacters, come alive in a writer’s mind.

Since I write Christian fiction, very often my intersectionsoccur at church or in a Bible Study. No surprise there, since a spiritualthread runs unapologetically throughout all of my fiction.

Recently both church and Bible study provided someGod-inspired fodder.

My new project, tentatively titled Great Deeds Never Die, revolves mainly around one deed my hero didwhich greatly impacted the quality of his life. My Henry did something heknows was wrong—he’s stolen money, and not just a little. He’s stolen a lot.Enough, in fact, to allow him to become a rich and influential banker in 1880sDenver.

Since my characters go with me everywhere, even as I’m sitting in church on Sunday morning or sittingat my Bible study session, whenever something comes up that might apply to one of mycharacters, my note-taking may take a brief detour.

At church, my pastor referenced a verse from Titus (1:16).From the Good News version: They claimthey know God, but their actions deny it…

My character, by being an upstanding, church-going man inhis community, knows how to “act” like a Christian. But he gave up anyauthenticity in that area a long time ago, and because he clings to his secret hedoesn’t want to change. So his action denies his claim that he knows God.Perhaps that verse will come up in my story to remind him of his struggle…

In the study I’m doing with a large group of women (BethMoore’s updated study on the Heart of David), she referenced James 5:16: So then, confess your sins to one another,and pray for one another, so that you will be healed… Through this verse, Beth Moore suggestedhonesty with one another to prevent any sin from ruling over us. Obviously mycharacter is being ruled by the sin of his past. Here’s another thought thatmight help free my poor, guilty Henry: a reminder that he’s not free. Hissecret sin rules nearly every decision he makes. Won’t he want to break free ofthat?

As you can see, it’s exactly this kind of thing that helpsme not only to understand what my characters might be feeling, but how theBible would help them out of their troubles—thereby helping me to write acredible and happy ending (once I get there, which at the moment seemsimpossibly far away!).

The only danger here would be to attribute all of these nuggetsof truth only to my characters, forgetting God might have something to teach me along the way, too!

Just so you won’t think it’s only my hero getting all theattention, my heroine has a song that helps me evoke some of her thoughts andemotions. She’s a woman with a mission: she wants to help the fallen women ofDenver, and in a territory that was largely mining towns full of lonely men,there would have been plenty of women for her to help. She decides to open an1880s version of a women’s shelter, loosely inspired by Hull House in Chicagoand Toynbee Hall in England.

Whenever I hear Laura Story sing her song “Blessings” I cannot help but imagine myheroine singing it to the wounded and fragile women she’s trying to help.

I’ll leave you with a YouTube video of this lovely song. Mayit bless you today!

And by the way . . . how do you like the blog's new look?

What's your spiritual temperament?

2011-10-17T06:44:00.000-07:00

Someone recently suggested to me a “worship style” test that wouldreveal the way God designed me to worship Him. Actually it was recommended by afellow author, who thought it would be a good resource not only for ourselvesbut to dwell on as we develop our characters. (That’s a writer for you, takingsomething perfectly personal and applying it to our jobs!)

The test is from the book Sacred Pathways by GaryThomas. I haven’t yet read it, but based on the test and the areasavailable—the various ways each of us most naturally worships God—it’s a book Iplan to read.

After taking the test online, I found the resultsinteresting enough to ponder. Since I view my writing as a ministry, I fullyexpected my area of worship to fall in line with that. And it did. I’mcontemplative and intellectual — as I hasten to add I don’t think of myself asparticularly smart, I just enjoy things that make me think.

So that much I expected. Writers must be able to think, since the stories we produce come out of our imaginations.

But one of the other major roles in mylife is as caregiver. My sixteen-year-old son needs round-the-clock attentionbecause of Fragile X Syndrome. At roughly a two-year-old’s functionality, hecan’t be left alone and even during the night we have to be aware of thenoises and sounds coming from his room. If he gets up during the night,anything can happen, from something harmless but frustrating like getting intothe refrigerator and leaving it open all night to something far morefrightening: the thought that he might leave the house. Thank God that hasn’thappened, but it’s a possibility that has helped to make me a very lightsleeper.

Having been assigned this role from no lessthan God Himself, you would think another form of strong worship for me wouldbe as a caretaker. However this area of worship was the second lowest in myranking (traditionalist being the lowest). Caretakers,the test says, draw near to God throughcaring for and serving others.

Ranking low on this is pretty embarrassing, not just as a mom but as a Christian. Itried consoling myself by saying I answered the questions about service outsidethe home, so maybe someday I'll still win that mother-of-the-year award I've been waiting for. :-) But still I couldn’t help thinking God either has a questionable senseof humor or I need to learn something.

And of course the latter is true. Doesn’t God give uschallenges to teach us, mold us, make us a brighter reflection of Him and His servant's heart? Maybeonce I embrace my role as caretaker, the way I have as a writer, I’ll havestepped a bit higher on my journey toward what God wants me to be.

So what’s your challenge? Do you think a spiritualtemperament test might give you some insight? If so, here’s the link:

http://common.northpoint.org/sacredpathway.html

Brakes on Chicago, Full Speed Ahead for Denver!

2011-10-10T06:19:00.000-07:00

Here’s a good example of one of the timeless lessons in publishing. The book Ijust finished stirred a new idea for me, a novel I wanted to set here inChicago. Not only was the prospect of vast and easy research appealing, butthere was a character in Bees In TheButterfly Garden (releasing June 2012) that I just couldn’t let go. She’s beenlurking, waiting for me to turn all my attention to her (that’s the kind ofdemanding character she is).

So I thought about what kind of story might fit thischaracter and did a bit of research (always the fun part!) then wrote up asummary for myself and my editor. I’m already contracted to write a differentstory next, but I thought it was worth talking to my editor about shiftingfocus. I’ll still write this other story, but perhaps we could adjust theorder.

I was happy to learn this wasn’t an impossible scenario . .. however, and here is where the lessons in publishing start, since laborstrife played into my late 19^th century setting, I met somehesitation. There is already a book in the pipeline for something similar.

Sigh.

Much of the conversation with my editor revolved aroundmaking sure I was excited about whatever project I took on next. It was then Iappreciated a whole new aspect about her job. It never occurred to me thatwriters might be . . . well, let’s just say our job requires a certainintangible that a sensitive editor wants to keep in tact.

So while my demanding (but redeemable) character taps hertoe in impatience to find herself on the page, I turned my attention back theother idea I was already contracted to write.

And here is a lesson about the writing end of things. If thestory is right, that lovely intangible—the element necessary to be excitedabout whatever project we’re creating—is flexible and nearly indestructible.

All I needed was the hope that I’d get to keep alive thatother character, which I received. Once I turned my attention back to the otherproject I’d presented a while ago, the old excitement was easily revived. Goodas new, because it has all the elements I need to get into a story: aninteresting premise, a character who intrigues me, and a theme I want toexplore.

The setting is—you guessed it—Denver! I love the west butsomehow have never done such a setting. The main character is Henry Hawkins, aman with a secret, the kind of secret that is the precise antonym of the valuesmy heroine holds dearest. Ah, the angst we press upon our characters! All of itrevolves around the theme of what we treasure most—which just so happens to fitwith the current sermon series I’m enjoying at my church. I guess God knew allalong which book I’d be writing.

So here is what I learned:

Timing: what wewriters want to write must fit the publishing lineup. This is a business, afterall, and has survived for centuries. As writers, we don’t have the full picture of all the contracted projects.

Tact: A goodeditor will treat that lovely intangible all writers have with amazingdelicacy! She or he is aware that the emotional aspect of writing is vital, anddoesn’t want to bruise that creative fire if they want their writers to producetheir best work.

Tenacity: aworking writer needs this, but with the real hope that ideas born in us with aflash of excitement can be put on backburners without simmering away. Tenacityis easy when partnered with hope that the stories we want to write will bevaluable and valued. Old ideas never die.

Novel or Novella?

2011-10-03T07:15:00.000-07:00

Not long ago I experimented with the idea of writing anovella. Although the project didn’t end up going anywhere, my thought process during the brief encounter swung somewhere between excitement of achallenge and outright fear.

The fear might surprise someone who doesn’t normally writeunder deadline. For me, there is some element of fear every time I start a newproject. I’m a seat-of-the pants writer, which means I only have a vague idea ofhow the story will unfold. I know the setting, the major conflict and a basicidea of the ending, but I only get to know the characters and the theme of thestory as I write. Sometimes I feel like the first reader of the book, notknowing what’s going to happen next and surprised at the turns I uncover.

The fear comes in because I know I only have a certainamount of time for all the fun that comes along with seat-of-the-pants writing.

My fear at writing a novella was more than the typicalseat-of-the-pants fear. Plain and simple, itwas fear of writing short. I recently came across a Blaise Pascal quotethat sums up my feelings exactly:

I have made this letter longer than usualbecause I lack the time to make it shorter.

—Blaise Pascal

Put “book” in the place of “letter” and there you have it.It’s easy to ramble on, to sort of babble on paper, and in stories to explorerabbit trails, to take time getting to know the characters. We have room to addlots of subtle hints at motivation, to expand back story or a foundationalimpetus that might add another layer to our hero or heroine.

And speaking of layers, it’s so easy to add layers to alonger book! Subplots, little quirky twists that offer a broader, deeperinsight into our character’s slice of life.

I’m not here to argue that War and Peace is inferior to AnimalFarm because it’s ten times longer. What I’m saying is that for me,novellas present a particular challenge because a reader of romantic storiesexpects every bit as much honest motivation, clear conflict, romantic tensionpacked into 80 or 100 pages as in a full length novel. Explaining motivation isa lot easier to do when we have the time to explore possible reasons behind theinner obstacles a character must overcome.

If I ever do write a novella, and I really do want to one ofthese days, I will most likely write many more pages than end up included inthe final version of the story. The real test will be in my ability to cut outwhat isn’t absolutely necessary.

Which reminds me of another quote:

Perfection is achieved, not when there isnothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.

—Antoine deSaint-Exupéry

I’ll leave you with the thought that sometimes streamliningis preferred, depending on the circumstance. I’m hoping to make it through thisweek’s writing without getting sidetracked, as I so often do, by minutia thatwon’t really matter once I step away then return with a fresh eye.

My thanks to the following blog for the inspirationalquotes:

Litemind

New Fiction from Donita K. Paul

2011-09-29T08:50:00.000-07:00

I'm so pleased to bring you information about Donita's new book! Sounds like it might make a great Christmas gift for those hard to buy-for teen boys on our lists...

With the finalinstallment of the “Twilight” film series scheduled to be released in October,vampires and zombies are set to be among the year’s most popular Halloweencostumes. Many parents feel tornbetween their child’s love for imagination and not wanting to encourage thedarker side of fantasy. How canthey encourage reading and wonder, but without all the junk? Meeting that precise need, popular andtrusted author Donita K. Paul brings us her newest tale of dragons,adventure and faith in The Dragons of the Watch (October 4,2011 from WaterBrook Press).

TheChronicles of Chiril continue as Ellie and Bealomondore find themselves trappedin an isolated city guarded by dragons and separated from everything they knowand love. How can they escape? Along the way they meet a group of wild childrenand a very old man, whose needs they must meet before they can find their wayhome. With the help of the dragons of the watch, they discover that their fatedepends upon their ability to recognize and step in line with the Creator’swill.

Mrs.Paul has created a fascinating and detailed world where dragons and humans“mindspeak,” tiny creatures are heroes, and gateways serve as doors to anentirely different place and experience. With a warm, accessible and humorous tone, lots of action, and avoidance ofthe heavy, dark elements found in much of today's fantasy fiction, The Dragons of the Watch is a greatfamily read. On a deeperlevel, it also encourages discussion of how to interact with those who do notshare one’s faith in a foreign culture or one’s own city. The book includes a map and a glossary ofcharacters and terms, and fans can go even deeper at DonitaKPaul.com withpuzzles, recipes, resources for aspiring writers and links for homeschoolingfamilies.

An excerpt:

Invitation

Elliesat on her favorite boulder and looked Tak right in the eyes, telling him whatwas on her mind. “Gramps shouldn’t have taught me to read.”

Takresponded as he usually did when he received Ellie’s confidences. He loweredhis head, placing it on her knee for a rub.

Ellieobliged her pet, stroking the white hair between his nubby horns with one handwhile digging in the pocket of her homespun pinafore with the other. Themountain breeze toyed with the paper she withdrew. With difficulty, shesmoothed the small poster out on her other knee. Dirty and wrinkled, it stillmade her heart beat a little faster.

RoyalWedding and Coronation:

PrincessTipper

And

PrinceJayrus, Dragonkeeper and Paladin

All invited to the celebration.

“Allinvited. But Efficinderpart Clarenbessipawl and her goat Tak can't come. Nochaperone, no travel. Ma and Da aren't interested. And Gramps just laughs.'You'll see. You'll see.' is all he says. He should take me himself.”

Heryounger brother’s shrill yell came from the knoll rising out of the river tothe east. “Ellie! Ellie!”

Hestood on the hill, grinning like a bear with a paw in the honey hive and hisface red from running. His stubby tumanhofer body bounced with excitement. Heheld his fists above his head and whirled them around in circles. Something hadset him off.

Shestood and hollered back. “You be calling me by my proper name out in the open‘n at the top of your lungs, Gustustharinback. Ma will tan yer hide if she’sfinding out you disgrace the family with such shabby care of our dignity.”

Whenhe saw her, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Yere wanted athome. Itta be good news.”

Thatinformation didn’t impress her. Probably a delivery of the bolt of muslinordered, which meant she’d be cutting and dying lengths for making new clothes.Not exciting news at all.

“Canit wait?” She gestured behind her to the scattered goat herd. “I’ll have togather Tak’s clan if I’m to come home now.”

“I’llcome help you.” Gus charged down the hill toward the footbridge across theriver.

Elliestared at him for a moment with her mouth hanging open. The good news hadnothing to do with cloth. Her brother would never voluntarily come help bringthe goats in for something as mundane as new clothes. And he scurried down thepath, slipping some on the loose rocks. But the precarious descent did not slowhim a bit. Even in the narrower patches where exposed roots of arranndon bushestripped careless hikers, her sturdy brother skidded downward.

Foldingthe Royal Celebration notice into a small square, Ellie stuffed it back in herpocket. She turned away from watching her brother’s progress and nudged thegoat. “Come on, Tak. You find the nannies, and I’ll find the billies.”

Elliewent one direction and Tak another. In a few minutes, she located the fifteengoats who regularly hung together. Mostly young males, these animals preferredthe rockier terrain. She suspected it had to do with their perpetual game of I’m-up-highest.

Sheclicked her tongue and tapped her staff on a rock. Their heads rose as if allattached to the same string though they didn’t come right away. Each one chewedwhat was in their mouths and casually left their places one by one. Taking aserene amble down the hillside, they passed her, heading toward the bridge andhome.

Whenthe last one clomped by, Ellie rested her staff on her shoulder and followed. Takalready had the nannies plodding along the bank toward the footbridge. Gustustharinbacktrailed the nannies and carried the smallest of the baby goats in his arms.

Heshouted when he caught sight of his sister. “Hurry! Aunt and Uncle Blamenyellomontare at the house. I can’t tell you the surprise, and I’m gonna burst withkeeping my tongue from waggin’ and you from knowin’.”

Shetapped her staff on the rock beneath her feet. The billies scampered beforeher, picking up her impatience and gratefully heading for home. Even aftereating all day, they appreciated the handfuls of button-grain they got from thefarmer’s younger children.

Withthe goat hooves pounding on the wooden bridge, Ellie couldn’t hear or be heard.So she waited until she’d caught up with her brother on the other side.

“What’swith all the folderol, Gus?”

Shewatched as he forced a glare onto his face, erasing the impudent grin he’d beenwearing. “You are to call me by my proper name if I have to call you by yours.”

“There’sa difference between shouting ‘Ellie’ and speaking ‘Gus’ quietly.” She grabbedhis arm. “Now tell me, or I’ll toss you into the river.”

Hepressed his lips together and gave her his most obstinate glower. The cornersof his lips twitched, and she knew he wanted to laugh. She let go. She couldn’treally dunk him while he carried the small kid.

“Whyare aunt and uncle here?”

“Can’ttell you that either. But they’s only stopping, not staying. We better hurry.”

Ellielost Gustustharinback’s help as soon as they came in sight of the pens. Hescuttled down the last hill and opened the gate but then ran through the goatbarn, across the yard, and into the house.

To purchase Dragons of the Watch:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Christian Book Distributors

Mrs. Paul has also released a prairie romance, Taming the Wild Wind. Check out her website for details: donitakpaul.com

2011 ACFW Conference from my angle

2011-09-26T07:40:00.000-07:00

The arch in St. Louis! It's a great advertisement for stainless steel, because it's looks so shiny and new even after forty years!

I've just returned from this year's American Christian Fiction Writer's conference held in St. Louis. What fun! It's come a long way since the first ACFW conference I attended in 2001 in Kansas City. At that event there were under 100 people, since our total membership was something like 150. Now we're up to 2500 members and counting, and the attendance this year was around 650. That's quite some multiplication!

And it's easy to see why. ACFW is an organization that nurtures the hopes and dreams of writers. Of course it does much more than that, as a professional organization that shares information and offers ways to improve our craft. But as you'll see from my pictures it's most loved because of the friendships we've made over the years. We all have different journeys but we share so much along the way!

I roomed with my friend Jill Eileen Smith. We met through ACFW about ten years ago.


Got to spend some time with my dear friend Judith Miller. She's a kindred spirit!

Ruth Axtell Morren and I met because we're fans of each others work. We've known each other for at least four years.


I had dinner with Rachelle Gardener (standing furthermost to the back) and other wonderful WordServe clients.


And spent some great time with my Tyndale editors, Sarah Mason (left of me) and Stephanie Broene (right).

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-09-21T06:38:00.000-07:00

Here's the newest from my friend Trish Perry! Get in the Christmas spirit as the weather takes on a familiar crispness...

Bio: Award-winning novelist Trish Perry has written nineinspirational romances for Harvest House Publishers, Summerside Press, andBarbour Publishing, as well as two devotionals for Summerside Press. She hasserved as a columnist and as a newsletter editor over the years, as well as a1980s stockbroker and a board member of the Capital Christian Writersorganization in Washington, D.C. She holds a degree in Psychology.

Trish just released LoveFinds You on Christmas Morning, written with Debby Mayne. Her nostalgicromance novel, Unforgettable (SummersidePress), released in March and Tea for Two, Book Two in her Millicent’sTea Shop series (Harvest House), released in April. She invites you to visither at www.TrishPerry.com

About the book: Love finds a home on Christmas morning in two heartwarming holiday stories.

Deck the Halls (DebbyMayne): In 1925, the wealthy William Tronnier becomes smitten with the lovelybut penniless Lillian Pickard. Not one to give up easily, William pursuesLillian even though she does everything in her power to resist falling in lovewith a man from a completely different social class. As Christmas descends onthe picturesque town of Cary, North Carolina, William plans to make Lillian aproposal she can’t refuse.

‘Tis the Season (TrishPerry): When personal chef Nikki Tronnier moves back home to Cary, NorthCarolina, she plans to fulfill a lifelong dream and buy back the family homebuilt by her great-grandfather for his bride. But before she is able to make anoffer, someone else buys the house. Just as she prepares for a fight, shelearns that the very person who stole her dream is the man who has also stolenher heart. Unaware, handsome new owner, Drew Cornell, seeks Nikki’s help inrestoring the home to its historic beauty in time for Christmas.

Online purchase links:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

CBD

Chicago History Lives Up To Its Reputation

2011-09-19T07:24:00.000-07:00

Did I mention I’m researching Chicago as the possiblesetting for my next novel? The research phase, as usual, fascinates me! It’s fullof violence, political corruption, vice . . . and a bit of virtue thatseparates it from Sodom and Gomorrah.

Let me start by telling you a little personal story. When Iwas in my twenties, I took a trip to Germany. While there, when I spoke to anyone—Germanor otherwise—they would usually ask what part of America I was from. More thanonce, when I said I was from Chicago, what association do you think they madewith this city? The Sears Tower was certainly up and operating, even back then.Chicago architecture has been famous as far back as the unique designs of FrankLloyd Wright. That would have been something really fine to be connected with.Or how about our hot dogs, or our pizza? Chicago style! No. What we were knownfor was Al Capone. I vividly recall one man immediately taking up an imaginarymachine gun and rat-tat-tatting it with a big smile while invoking Mr. Capone’sname.

Well, I’m sad to say the farther back in this city’s historyI go, the more Capone-type figures I’m meeting. From Mayors who arranged toreceive campaign donations as kickbacks for keeping safe the illegal gamblinghalls to brothels that fed and supplied drinks and . . . shall we say, services. . . to beat cops so their establishment wouldn’t be raided. It’s all there. I read about thugs who paid immigrants and the homeless to vote a certainway—although in their own defense they did admit the actual voting process wasstill sacredly secret. But for a single drink (a beer for 35 cents) or,depending on the precinct, anywhere from a quarter to 3 dollars, a vote couldbe bought or sold. I guess there is a reason for the old Chicago saying to voteearly and vote often, since corruption was rampant almost from the start.

But though evidence of virtue seems more rare,there is some to be found. Jane Addam’s Hull House, for one, a highlysuccessful settlement house that offered shelter, training and dignity to thosein need. In connection to that, there were many upstanding clubs, among them theJane Club that was a cooperative boarding group for young working women, sothey could support themselves for $3 per week. There was also the PacificGarden Mission, where people could find refuge and food and medical help, amidspiritual guidance.

By 1893 Chicago had proven itself to be one of America’ssparkling cities when it donned its best dressing for the ColumbianExposition/World’s Fair commemorating the 400^th anniversary ofChristopher Columbus’s landing.

Chicago was referred to as an “exploding metropolis,” andthat’s certainly true of the 19^th century. With rapid growth cameboth the effort to mimic the east coast (who was trying to mimic Europe) to thedens of thievery and corruption. If history is teaching me anything, it’s thatmankind hasn’t changed very much. We’re all still a mix of good and bad, somewith a little more of one than the other.

So now I’m back to the books, before I head off for the ACFWconference in St. Louis later this week. Another city with a rich history, I’msure! If only I had time to explore it. . .

Going on a Whirlwind Tour of the World

2011-09-12T05:14:00.000-07:00

…well, at least through my research. I’d love to say I’m offto traverse the world in 80 days, but I’ll be doing all of my traveling throughbooks.

Speaking of Around theWorld in 80 Days, did you know the famous Nellie Bly was the first to beatthat fictional record when she went around the world in 72 days, 6 hours and 11minutes? She started that journey in New Jersey on November 14^th of1889 and returned on January 25^th of 1890, having traveled almosttotally unescorted by steamboat and railroad (and burro!). It was a record that wouldn’tlast long, but the world followed her through cables she sent back to thepopular newspaper she worked for, The NewYork World. Her publisher even held a contest for readers to guess how longit would take for her to reach the next destination. The winner received a freetrip to Europe, and spending money as well.

An interesting side note is that Cosmopolitan heard about what Bly was doing and quickly sponsoredanother woman to beat the Jules Verne record. But while it took her 76 ½ days,beating the fictional record, she still came in behind Bly. Cosmo was fledgling in that day, justthree years old, but it’s still circulating today, unlike The New York World whichstopped publication in 1931. There is some mystery as to whether or not Bisland,the Cosmo gal, was intentionally misled into believing she’d missed passage onone of the faster steamers out of London, when her publisher had paid thesteamship to wait for her. She ended up taking a slower boat back to New York, whileBly, coming from the opposite direction, was delayed two days due to a roughPacific crossing. She, too, had some help from the owner of her newspaper, onlythis help wasn’t missed. He chartered a special train from San Francisco to NewJersey which, unlike Jules Verne’s character, didn’t run into delays along itsway by stampeding bison, dangerous bridges or wild Indians. She came straightthrough to fame, eventually heralded in NYC.

I don’t know how anyone could not love history with storieslike that! And none of that is even going to make it into my next book. It’sjust an interesting sideline for me to visit as I start drawing the world mycharacters will inhabit.

Who knows where my whirlwind tour will take me? Although thecharacter I have in mind won’t be a reporter, she will be a traveler of Bly’sfortitude. Will she go through India and have her hands tattooed with henna?Will she see some of the things Bly saw, like the leper colony in China and perhapspurchase a monkey somewhere along the way? Or will her journeys resemblePhileas Fogg’s from the Verne tale? Through India on a railroad . . . and anelephant? Will there be rescues and adventure? Traveling the world must includesome of that! I have only to dive into some history and travel books to findout which unique adventures my character will experience.

And this is only the background!

No wonder I love writing. What other occupation can take meso many places without leaving the comfort of home? You’ll have to excuse me, Ihave some adventures to dream about now . . .

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-09-07T12:54:00.000-07:00

This week I'm pleased to bring to your attention a new book by my friends and writing team Hannah Alexander. Let me just say I'm intrigued by this one, and I absolutely love the cover!

Against the backdrop of 1901 Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and the surrounding countryside, one simple kiss draws two people into a discovery that will forever change their lives.

Marriage seems the only option for Keara McBride and Elam Jensen after Keara's father gambles away her home and ends up in jail, and Elam's children need a mother's care. When the Jensens seal their vows at the altar with a kiss, however, their marriage of convenience seems much less convenient. The first kiss they share before a church filled with witnesses ignites a beacon of attraction that leaves them both feeling guilty. Elam's wife, Gloria--who was also Keara's best friend--has been dead less than a year. How can they betray her like this? And yet...oh, that kiss. When a stranger who bears a striking resemblance to Gloria shows up injured on the front porch on Elam and Keara's wedding night, the whole family is thrown into confusion, suspense and danger. But does this stranger also hold a key to the Jensens' future happiness?

Published by Summerside Press

To purchase, click here

Labor Day!

2011-09-05T05:49:00.000-07:00

Happy Labor Day! I guess for someone who works at home at a dream job I'm not the typical benefactor of this holiday. But in honor of this day off, I'm going to share some thoughts about Labor Day and how I came to have such thoughts in the first place.

I've been spending my days researching my next novel, which I started in the usual way. My next book is going to be set somewhere in the late 1880s or perhaps early 1890s. Since the setting is America, I pulled out my trusty Encyclopedia of American Facts and Dates. It's a book—yes, an actual paper-bound volume—that gives me, in chronological order, a brief overview of whatever era I'm targeting. It offers various facets of history: politics, culture, sports, nearly everything you can imagine. While it doesn't go into much detail, it gives me a starting place if something catches my eye to investigate if I think I might use it for my setting or characterization.

One thing that always amazes me when I do this is how much—and how little—things have changed. We've always had economic booms and busts, we've had unrest because of labor and race relations, we've had natural disasters and political scandal and famous thieves and philanthropists. Circumstances change, technology advances, but inside we're still the same.

But that's another story. What I noticed as I was doing my preliminary research was that Labor Day was made official in 1894, under President Grover Cleveland. Speaking of him, did you know he's the only president to serve two non-consecutive terms? He was first elected on the Democratic ticket in 1884, then lost his bid for re-election in 1888 to Benjamin Harrison. Was it a sweeter victory for Cleveland the second time around when he unseated Harrison, as Harrison had done to him four years before?

But that, too, is another story. One of Cleveland's challenges while he was in office the second time was labor unrest. It's true by any standard that big businesses took advantage of workers during the Industrial Age. Between low pay, long hours, unsafe conditions and child labor, I think we can all agree the people had a reason for the unrest back in that day. One particularly brutal strike was right here in Chicago, with the Pullman strike of 1894. Because of hard economic times, Pullman reduced wages in May. Workers struck, resulting in violent mobs that pillaged the area. In sympathy for the striking Chicago workers, a general railway strike followed. On July 3, President Cleveland, in an attempt to break the strike on the grounds that it interfered with postal services and commerce, sent US troops to Chicago to stop the strikers. Happy 4th of July! Needless to say, the mob didn't just start behaving. There was a battle and two men were killed and several injured. The troops weren't called out of Chicago until July 20. The strike officially ended a couple of weeks later, and nothing was settled. The wages were still cut.

All that is backstory to the first official Labor Day, which Cleveland agreed to in part perhaps because his method of sending in troops to stop a controversial strike was viewed as - shall we nicely say - harsh. The first state to start the Labor Day holiday was Oregon, in 1887, followed by New York and several other states. Cleveland made it a national holiday. I've put in a video below from the History Channel that explains the origins. For example, one of the reasons the date was chosen by an American union leader was that it filled the void between 4th of July and Thanksgiving. Now that's practical planning!

So take a moment to view the video, thanking God that although many things haven't changed, many things have. Labor Day isn't just a time for stores to have a sale, for us to put away our white shoes and pants, and as my husband says, put down the final fertilizer application, but to be thankful for how the workers of our country keep us all going.

So thank you!

New Fiction - Friday?!

2011-09-02T10:36:00.001-07:00

As I mentioned earlier in the week, I was down with the flu . . . which turned into a cold . . . which still makes me want to sit on the couch or go back to bed instead of doing much else. All that to say, I've had a head full of other stuff instead of a head for any of the real work I do. (Okay, that just sounds silly. Sitting at the computer making up stories isn't real work according to some, even according to me on good days, but that's another topic all together.)

All excuses aside, I'm so happy to share with you, better late than never, the newest from my friend Margaret Daley. Don't miss the excerpt (below).

Happy Reading!

“A wonderful love story in the American Tapestries series with characters who are trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives after the War of 1812. Daley turns the ugliness of war into a new beginning for the ones who pick up the pieces. Her characters are willing to do what they need to in order to survive, but also are willing to give a friendly hand to those around them.”

Reviewed By: Patsy Glans from RT

From This Day Forward

By Margaret Daley

Rachel Gordon is stranded in South Carolina, pregnant, a recent widow when her husband fell overboard on the voyage to America. Nathan Stuart, a physician who came home from serving in the American army during the War of 1812, disenchanted with his life and the Lord, rescues Rachel and saves her life. Feeling responsible for her, Nathan tries to discourage her from living at a rundown farm her husband bought to start a new future in America. He wants her to return to England.

Rachel refuses to go back to England where her father disowned her for marrying against his wishes. The farm is all she has, and she is determined to make it on her own. But Nathan has other ideas and becomes her farmhand to discourage her from staying in America. Instead he ends up protecting her and being challenged by her. Can two wounded people heal each other?

Chapter One Excerpt:

March 1816

“We are going to die,” Rachel Gordon’s young maid cried out.

Rachel looked up at the clouds rolling in. Dark, ominous ones. She shivered and pulled her shawl tighter about her as the breeze picked up. A storm brewed, and she still had several miles to go until she reached her new home in South Carolina. “God willing, we will make it, Maddy.”

Fear deepened the lines on Maddy’s plain face. “’Tis like the squall on the boat.”

Lightning flashed, momentarily brightening the shadows of the forest. A clap of thunder rumbled the ground. Maddy screamed. The old gelding that pulled the cart—all Rachel’s meager coins could afford—increased its speed, weaving from side to side. Out of control.

Determined to be there before nightfall and in one piece, Rachel gripped the reins and fought to slow the maddening pace of the horse. Finally it resumed its plodding step. The weather-beaten cart she had bought near the dock in Charleston hit a bump in the road, jostling her into Maddy. Her maid clutched the seat with one hand and held onto Rachel with the other.

Steadying herself, Rachel rested her wrists on her rounded stomach. She had more than herself and Maddy to worry about now. Her life had changed so much since she left her ancestral home in England. She had married, conceived a child, and was now a widow, all in the space of a year. And worse, she was going to a place she had never seen because she had nowhere else to go. Her husband had used most of their money to purchase this plantation she was traveling to. It was her future, whether she wanted it to be or not.

The warmth of a spring day quickly faded as the sky grew blacker. Rachel stared at the menacing clouds through the treetops and realized she would not make it to her new home before the storm broke. She scanned the area for a place to seek shelter.

Sinister shadows lurked just beyond the road. Again she shivered, her imagination conjuring images of wild animals staring at her from the depths of the forest. She’d heard stories about the bears. Huge. Fierce. Sharp teeth and claws. Shifting on the seat, she darted a glance from side to side, feeling as though she were some beast’s next meal. She could not stop, even if it poured down rain.

Oh, how she missed England, with its gently rolling hills and refined beauty—not this raw wilderness. Like a fish floundering on land, she did not belong here. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this strange environment.

Drops of water spattered her. The wind picked up.

“That man on the boat told me about a big cat. They are out there.” Maddy whimpered, draping her shawl over her head and hunching her shoulders. “Lord, have mercy on us.”

Rachel forced herself to keep her gaze fixed on the road ahead. Once they were at the plantation Maddy would settle down. The squall two days out of Charleston had nearly sunk the ship they had traveled in. Surely this storm would not be as bad.

Taking deep breaths, Rachel calmed her racing thoughts and heartbeat. Pain spread through her lower back. She gripped the reins, the leather digging into her palms. The pain dulled to an ache. Another deep inhalation and the panic nibbling at her composure abated. Soon she would be at her new home and could sit in front of a warm fire, put her legs up, and rest. Hopefully the letter her husband had sent ahead would alert any staff to her arrival. Her glance strayed to the tall pine trees, swaying in the gust. Everything would be all right when she arrived at Dalton Plantation.

But even with Maddy next to her on the seat, the feeling she was the only person in the world overwhelmed her.

The wind picked up, whipping strands of her long brown hair that had escaped its coiffure about her face and threatening to whisk away her bonnet. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, followed by thunder. Maddy jumped in her seat. The gelding’s ears flattened.

A chill embedded itself deep in Rachel. She arched her back to ease the pang still plaguing her. Suddenly lightning struck a tree nearby, its flash a beacon in the growing darkness. A crack as the pine split into two pieces echoed through the forest. Immediately afterward, a boom of thunder cleaved the air. Maddy shrieked. The horse increased its pace while a few more splotches of water splashed Rachel. Then all at once rain fell in gray sheets.

The gelding lurched forward even faster. Rachel grasped the reins, trying to maintain control. She pulled on the leather straps to slow the horse. Nothing. He kept galloping down the road, oblivious to his surroundings, as though the hounds of hell were nipping at his hooves.

Writin' With The Flu

2011-08-29T07:32:00.000-07:00

Good Monday morning! I’m adding that exclamation point to exhibit a lot more energy than I have today. Yesterday afternoon I came down with the flu. Even after 12 hours in bed, I woke exhausted—but functional. Just don’t ask me to fly up the stairs, chase the dog, or think fast (which, even on my best days can be a stretch).

Here are the things this flu bug is preventing me from doing:

1. Yesterday my publisher began a promotion to give away free electronic downloads of one of my most favorite titles: The Oak Leaves. Today I was going to announce it on various loops, Facebook, to friends and family. I hope to get to that either later today or tomorrow, when I’m sure to be feeling better. But here are the two links to get that started:

Kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Oak-Leaves-ebook/dp/B000SEQIXQ/ref=sr_1_9?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1314621926&sr=1-9

Nook:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-oak-leaves-maureen-lang/1008294420?ean=9781414368894&itm=1&usri=the%2boak%2bleaves

For anyone new to this blog, let me tell you a little about this book. The Oak Leaves is probably closer to my heart than any other book I’ve written, because the crux of the challenge in all of the character’s lives is Fragile X Syndrome – the disorder affecting my oldest son. It’s not an autobiography by any means, but it does have a lot of me in it, simply because I wrote it from my own experience learning I was a carrier who had unknowingly passed on this disorder to my son. It was a book I didn’t want to write, because it forced me to explore an area of my life that even today is a challenge, but it’s one I needed to write. From the moment I knew I’d write that book, I felt God’s blessing on it. So I’m thrilled it’ll no doubt find some new readers with Tyndale’s great new promotion for it.

2) Today I planned to start a final read-through of my current project, which I must say even as I feel so lousy I would be excited about doing if I had more energy. (Right now the only thing that looks really good is as I approach the bed or couch and get to relax for a little while.) But this book has been my most fun to date. It’s a pure romance, with my heroine discovering her father earned most of his money through less than honorable—or legal—means. When he dies she has a choice: follow his legacy, one she didn’t even know existed until after he died, or find a suitable husband who won’t ask any questions about her heritage. And in the polite society of 1880 New York, that’s asking quite a bit. People trying to emulate Europe’s upper crust might have bent the rules about new money, but were amazingly fussy about who they let "in".

With that in mind, I was going to try a new trick my husband was telling me about from an article he read about memory. Since this book is obviously something I’m pretty familiar with, it’s difficult to come to it with a fresh eye since I don’t have the luxury of letting some time pass. The article on memory suggested if you’re reading something and want to exercise your mind, try changing the font to something totally new and even a bit of a challenge to read. I was going to try that – well, I still will, but perhaps not until I’m feeling better.

3) I was going to write a completely fascinating blog post. The way I feel right now, I’m settling for a coherent one. I hope I succeeded.

I’m glad germs don’t travel via cyberspace, at least not flu bug germs. I’d hate to pass this on to anyone I know, and have been washing my hands like crazy around my family.

Blessings on your day today — and if you think of it, send up a quick thanks if you have good health. :-)

Choreography

2011-08-22T06:49:00.000-07:00

This past week I happened to see a rather ugly news report about a bunch of sports fans who got into a fight while watching a game. (I turned the television off before hearing the details, so I don’t even know where it was, who was playing, or even which sport.) But as I reached for that off button, it occurred to me how absolutely unattractive un-choreographed fighting appears to be. Definitely unlike the movies when heroes defending their honor or their heroine lean back for a well-planned punch, or a Rocky-like boxer receives a right jab to the jaw that sends a torrent of slow motion sweat showering off the boxer’s cheek. These men in the news story just sort of flailed their arms, anger (and likely alcohol) contorting their faces. In fact, they looked a bit like children in a temper tantrum.

Of course my husband told me some real fights can look a lot more like the movies: hockey fights, for example, where the players have more experience at fighting.

But the short, unpleasant little snippet I saw on the news started me thinking. In books, as in movies, everything is choreographed. Every little piece fits the story like one giant puzzle. In a scripted fight on screen or on the page both parties are meant to portray something: the good guy courage, strength, stamina, the bad guy strength and stamina, too, but used for evil or domination or just plain meanness. In a movie both parties appear somewhat graceful. After all, if the audience is to be inspired to cheer for someone or root against someone else, you don’t want it looking like a playground fight at a nursery school.

And so the writers and directors work out the details. We assign steps to our characters and choreograph every move we give them so they represent either the nobleness of a hero or the toxic force of the villain. Everybody has to live up to the part they’re assigned to play.

Romantic scenes can be that way, too, not just fight scenes. Real life romance might be different from the larger-than-life romances filling screens or books, but the essence is similar and meant to be portrayed in a way that keeps the reader turning the pages or the viewer in their seat. For me, romantic stories remind me of how much I love my husband. They stir my heart and make me glad I found someone so worthy to be loved. So even if a romance is larger-than-life, the way most of fiction is, I know it’s choreographed and so it works to entertain me.

There is only one kind of love we shouldn’t try to choreograph. That's the love God offers. I think some of us picture limits on God’s love, and yet when I look around at creation or when I think of what Christ did on the cross I’m reminded there’s only one limit on God’s love, and that’s the condition that we accept it.

That’s one dance that’s just too big to be choreographed.

Poconos!

2011-08-15T05:34:00.001-07:00

This summer, my family and I went on a real vacation. It wasn’t a research-trip-disguised-as-a-vacation, although my youngest son did ask me if we’d come to the Poconos because I was setting a book there. What a skeptical child, to think his mother cannot take a real vacation. When I’d told my daughter and her friend about the destination the rest of us were headed for (she’s out of the nest) I later found out after that chat ended she and her friend turned to each other and said: So where are the Poconos, anyway? One said, the Carolinas? Dakotas? Who knew? *See below for the answer.

They’re obviously too young to remember the Poconos for its various heydays. Personally, I recall it as not only one of the most popular honeymoon capitols in the States, but the hottest resort town for New York celebrities. There was actually a heyday before that, which I didn’t know about, in the last half of the nineteenth century and into the twentieth. The whole Pocono Mountain area attracted some of New York and Philadelphia’s wealthiest families for the summer season. Natural beauty, fresh air and scores of fancy resorts drew the elites first by stagecoach and then by train.

Then the Great Depression hit. The area went into its first decline. Resorts closed, many of them burned down in the off-season so the cash-strapped owners could collect insurance money. It wasn’t until a man named Fred Waring purchased one of the few remaining resorts in 1943 that the area saw another revival. I only barely remembered the Waring name, but when the tour guide said the “Waring Blendor” I vaguely recalled from my childhood the commercials for his famous blender.

Waring wasn’t the inventor of the blender, just an effective promoter. He was a radio personality and a bandleader who knew lots of New York celebrities—whom he invited out to the Poconos. Soon the area was known for its beauty and fresh air again, and the east coast stars were attracted to the posh resorts. Honeymooners from all directions came, too, including the best known "honeymooner," Jackie Gleason.

It was an exclusive area right up until around the mid-1970s when air travel became more common than train travel. Wealthy vacationers decided to go to more exotic locales for their getaways—although while we were there, we did take advantage of a “Honeymoon Special”: 2 hot dogs and 2 slices of pie for a nominal price. You might not automatically think of joining hot dogs and pie. It’s not exactly peanut butter and jelly, eggs and bacon, or cake and ice cream, but I can personally vouch for it as a tasty meal.

So since the mid-70s the area has been declining again, mainly because the train line was converted to freight only. But since 9/11 a lot of city folk have decided it would be safer to live in the country, so it’s becoming a bedroom community for New Yorkers. They’re trying to get a commuter train stop back to Tinker Town (the Pocono stop that was built by the Irish, called “tinkers”) but it’s currently hung up in legal arguments among all the towns between New York and the Poconos.

After learning about the area’s history I decided it might be a good setting for a book, after all. You know, you just can’t take a writer anywhere without wondering if she’ll use it for creative fodder…

I wanted to see a small waterfall near our resort (Buttermilk Falls) and had to cross this uneven bridge to get there. I was careful, though, since I didn’t want to break my other ankle…

*I’d been hoping to hike at least a little of the Pennsylvanian Appalachian Trail that runs through the Poconos, but I was still recovering from my broken ankle. (Which, after five weeks now, is almost perfectly fine!)

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-08-10T08:39:00.001-07:00

This week's New Fiction offering may surprise some of my readers, but honestly this book just looks fascinating to me. Okay, so Amish vampires aren't your normal pick from an Inspirational author. But recently I was in on a discussion about what makes Christian fiction Christian. Must it contain an overt invitation to accept Christ as Lord and Savior? Do the characters have to find time to preach to the reader? Or is it simply a book offered by an writer who shares my Christian worldview? I tend to lean toward the latter.

So it's in that vein I introduce Leanna Ellis' latest work!

PLAIN FEAR:FORSAKEN

Leanna Ellis

Published by: Sourcebooks

Hannah Schmidt, a young Amish woman mourning the mysterious death of her beloved Jacob, must decide between two brothers, between good and evil. When she learns her first love is now the vampire Akiva, she must forsake him and cling to a new love, a lasting love, one that will save her soul.

Amish and vampires? Really? Yes, really. I’m asked a lot how this book came into being. Forsaken actually began as a joke. I was at a book signing and another author and I made a joke about how we should write an Amish/vampire story because those were the two genres that were selling so well. Well, it really was a joke. I didn’t rush home and start writing the book. But I suppose some seed was planted in my warped little brain and took root. Soon a character was speaking to me about her story and wanting me to write it. I resisted. But there was a very intriguing element that I couldn’t seem to ignore. To me, this was a Phantom of the Opera type story, with a love triangle, and a clear dividing line between good and evil. So I wrote the prologue and first chapter. Then I set it aside because I was busy meeting other deadlines. Besides, what was I to do with an Amish/vampire story? I mentioned it eventually to a couple of writer friends. They laughed, but in a good way and encouraged me to write it. Well, I wasn’t so sure although I was becoming obsessed with the story. I spent a lot of time in prayer over this book, because I don’t want to write something that God doesn’t want me to write. Also, I knew I’d have to leave the Christian market and sell it in the secular market. I wasn’t about to make that move without God’s clear direction. And He began to show me in more ways than one that this was the book He wanted me to write. More than a year passed, and I was at a writer’s conference minding my own business and not pursuing this story at all. An editor said the perfect submission would be…you guessed it! An Amish/vampire story. So I made an appointment to meet that editor and just talk about the idea. It almost felt like when an addict first admits she has a problem. I felt like I was teetering on the edge when I said, “I’m a writer and I’ve written an Amish/vampire story.” Well, she requested it. What I love about this story is that it shows the battle of good and evil. Evil doesn’t always appear with pitchfork and horns. Quite often, evil is appealing and attractive and hooks us in before we realize what has happened. Such is the case with my heroine Hannah. She simply loved a boy. But she opens her heart and her mind too easily and the consequences could be devastating. Even though this story is published in the secular world, it has a powerful spiritual message, a message the world needs to hear.

About Leanna:

Winner of the National Readers Choice Award, Leanna Ellis writes women’s fiction. Known for her quirky characters and wacky plots, don’t let the quirkiness fool you as Ellis probes deep in the heart and plucks at the heartstrings. She lives deep in the heart of Texas with her husband and children and an assortment of dogs and cats, including her crazy labradoodle, aka Hilo Monster, and her new kitten, Sawyer.

Amazon link to purchase Foresaken, click here

Read an excerpt of Forsaken here

Find Leanna on Facebook here

or visit Leanna's website

What's In A Name?

2011-08-08T07:18:00.001-07:00

Over the weekend the Hallmark Channel celebrated Lucille Ball’s 100^th birthday with an I Love Lucy marathon. I didn’t catch many episodes, but the few I did reminded me how hilarious that show used to be. In one memorable installment from the season Ricky, Lucy and the Mertz’ spent in Europe, Lucy begged Ricky for an outrageously expensive Paris-designer dress. Of course Ricky refuses. He’s not quite as frugal as Fred Mertz, but he’s unwilling to spend good money on what he believed to be ridiculous fashion. In fact, midway through the show, he and Fred are sitting at a street-side café and laughing at a woman walking by in a designer dress they’re convinced looked like it had been made from potato sacks.

Which of course gives them the idea to take potato sacks to a nearby cleaner/tailor and have a “designer” dress created. Fred, always unwilling to spend any money but more than willing to get in on this prank, is happy to put out a few dollars. For hats they use an ice bucket for Ethel's and a feed sack for Lucy’s. The dresses do look ridiculous, but not much more so than those sitting with the famed designer at this same café later.

The trick only worked, of course, because Ricky was able to finagle his way into obtaining name brand labels sewn into the phony dresses. When Lucy and Ethel donned that burlap, they were convinced they were dressing to the height of fashion. They strolled down the Paris street, happy to see others ogling them. It wasn’t until Ricky confessed the prank that they felt the shame of wearing such ridiculous outfits.

So for them, everything was in the name—the designer name fraudulently sewn into the dresses they wore.

It made me wonder if such a phenomena could happen elsewhere. My husband said it would probably happen in sports, at least in baseball. If half the major-leaguers were forced to go anonymously back to the minors they would be indistinguishable from the other good players still waiting to be called up. Some players have been awarded high salaries in the major leagues, made a name on a relatively short list of successes, only to offer less than spectacularly consistent results on the field.

Such thoughts come as a warning to me. By no means do I consider myself as having “arrived” in the publishing business. I still hope every book I write will be better than the last, if I don’t want to disappoint myself or my readers. And the fact is, there are definitely some authors whose quality rarely, if ever, seems to suffer. Why? Perhaps because they keep that “fire in the belly” to produce better and better work. They never take themselves too seriously—or their audience for granted. That’s the kind of author I hope to be.

So with that in mind, I’m diving into revisions on my current project. Did I mention I’d turned in my most recent book? I had so much fun with it! But it’s not “finished” yet. I have to admit I love the revision process. Once I receive my editor’s input, I feel validated in so many ways. Sure, there are improvements to be made. But once those are in, I have so much more confidence in the story as a result of the input from other voices I trust and admire.

What’s in a name? Sometimes too much, as in the designer dresses poor Lucy and Ethel wore. But for those in the arts trying to build a name—any of us, from writers to dressmakers—it’s important to keep in mind those brand names are best built upon quality. Consistent quality keeps that brand valuable.

Welcome to Rachelle's Marketing Blog Tour!

2011-07-31T16:35:00.000-07:00

This week I’m joining my agent’s blog tour with A Definitive Post About Author Marketing. To all of Rachelle Gardener’s loyal blog readers, welcome to my slice of cyber-space!

Whether I’m meeting with fiction writers who are either more or less experienced than I am, discussions often roll around to marketing. Depending where I find myself on the spectrum, I’m either answering or asking the same questions: What kind of marketing tips do you have? What works for you? What doesn’t?

It seems those from all levels of experience know intuitively that marketing is only as effective as the quality of the product behind it. So part of the answer always includes honing our craft, offering our audience, our readers, the best possible story so they’ll want to buy more of our books.

For me the key to good marketing is thinking in terms of our readers. I’ve always considered myself a reader who’s learned how to write what I feel like reading. That makes me familiar with what I want as a consumer. When I come across a book I’ve particularly enjoyed, I usually want to find out the following:

What else has this author written in the past?

When is their next book coming out?

Can I learn a little about this author?

I’m always pleased when I Google an author’s name and I have a variety of options, showing a strong online presence. An attractive, easy to navigate, informative and friendly website is an absolute must. Presence on Facebook is also a plus. A blog, if the author has one, is interesting for a quick look but with limited time I might or might not read it regularly. But it’s another window into a writer whose voice—or product—I already admire, so I’m apt to give it a chance.

As a reader it’s natural to recommend a book if I liked it. If the author’s book or website offers Discussion Questions, I might mention it to my book club, or to others who belong to a book club. I’m also apt to offer a review, at least on GoodReads. And if I take the time to write an email to the author letting her know how much I enjoyed her book, I always hope she’ll send me a quick thank-you reply.

Since those are demands I expect answered as a reader, those are things I concentrate on fulfilling as a writer. The best use of my energy is spent maintaining a consistent, positive online presence such as through an active blog and an attractive website, keeping up on correspondence, and of course writing each and every day during the week so I have a product to offer that I can be proud of.

Things I rarely do: book signings, paper mailings (post cards or new release announcements), or teaching. I do send out a newsletter three or four times per year, mainly with a seasonal holiday greeting or a new book announcement. But with every newsletter, every blog posting, every update on Facebook (which, other than my blog linking there automatically, I also rarely do) I try to offer either something of value or interest. Frankly a glimpse into my everyday life would fail on any fascination scale, so offering something with a bit more of either interest or service is the goal.

In terms of marketing…think of your audience first, keeping in mind a consumer’s expectation of the product you’re producing. Be service-oriented, offering either entertainment or value in each online presentation.

My last word of advice on marketing: do what’s fun for you, work it into your routine, and it won’t be a burden.

Happy Marketing!

Heat Stroke Stories

2011-07-18T08:47:00.000-07:00

With much of the country experiencing record heat this week, my husband and I sat around on Sunday evening like the old fogies we’ve become and started comparing heat stroke stories. The first time I ever encountered such a thing was at a marching band competition a long, long time ago. I was there with my parents, watching my older brother march in the Drum and Bugle Corps. Those poor high school students wore full uniform—jackets, gloves, hats—in sweltering July heat. As spectators, we watched the perfect rows march by but soon the marchers began to look like ducks at a carnival game. Each row had at least one drop to the field, fainted from the heat. Of course this was about forty years ago, so I doubt they’d allow such a thing these days. At the very least, I doubt they’d require those heavy woolen uniforms on such a day!

My husband and I have both encountered a more personal taste of heat stroke. Both of us were in our early twenties, although we didn’t know each other way back then. My husband was still living in the country, having grown up on a farm in Central Illinois. I was living in the Chicago suburbs at the time. Probably around the same year, while my husband was working his way through college with a summer job as a mason laborer for bricklayers, I took a trip to Hawaii. Can you already see where this story is headed?

I recall I was watching a show of hula dancers who seemed immune to an unusually hot day. My seat was in the direct sun and I was so heated I pulled my hair off of my neck (it used to be long in those days). I didn’t realize the sun beating down on my neck wasn’t a good idea. Soon I started to feel dizzy and nauseous so I sort of hobbled away from my spot in the bleachers. I must have looked a little unstable for so early in the day, because a resort team member met me and offered a comfortable spot in the shade along with some icy water. Things soon went back to normal although I couldn’t really see the rest of the show very well. Ah, such a delicate flower, me.

While I was enduring all of that, so significant as to become indelible in my pool of memories, my husband was working in the Central Illinois July heat. The temperature was no doubt hotter than in Hawaii, and his job was to run buckets of mortar and 40 pound blocks of concrete between the supply area and the bricklayers — up and down the scaffolding. By mid-afternoon he felt dizzy and weak and drank probably a gallon of water only to sweat it out. At one point, with the slim hope of cooling off, he stuck his arms up to his elbows in the water they used to mix the mortar. But he made it through the entire day, a true test of stamina if ever I heard one.

That sort of sums up the history of our lives. My husband’s is full of hard physical labor, while mine is . . . well, not. These days some of my hardest work is done staring out the window. Sometimes I see him outside mowing the lawn or working on some project or another, while I stay inside where it's cool and comfortable. I've longed suspected my husband is smarter than I am . . . and yet . . . here I am, inside on a day like this.

All this to say, find a cool spot, drink plenty of fluids, and keep the sun off your neck!

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-07-13T05:19:00.000-07:00

This week I'm pleased to introduce you to my friend Pam Hillman and her new book, Stealing Jake. Stealing Jake is being released through Tyndale's new e-book format — and is exciting news! It's a brand new format, something that is undoubtedly gaining popularity and is likely a sign of how the majority of books will be published in the future. That means more opportunity for all of us, writers and readers alike.

I can see why Pam has finaled or won so many writing contests. She certainly knows how to pique a reader's interest!

About Stealing Jake:

When Livy O'Brien spies a young boy jostling a man walking along the boardwalk, she recognizes the act for what it is. After all, she used to be known as Light-fingered Livy. But that was before she put her past behind her and moved to the growing town of Chestnut, Illinois, where she's helping to run an orphanage. Now she'll do almost anything to protect the street kids like herself.

Sheriff's deputy Jake Russell had no idea what he was in for when he ran into Livy--literally--while chasing down a pickpocket. With a rash of robberies and a growing number of street kids in town--as well as a loan on the family farm that needs to be paid off--Jake doesn't have time to pursue a girl. Still, he can't seem to get Livy out of his mind. He wants to get to know her better . . . but Livy isn't willing to trust any man, especially not a lawman.

About Pam Hillman:

Award-winning author Pam Hillman writes inspirational fiction set in the turbulent times of the American West and the Gilded Age. Her debut book, Stealing Jake, won the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Genesis contest and was a finalist in Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart contest. She lives in Mississippi with her husband and family. Click here to visit Pam's website.

Click here to enter Pam's contest to win a free Kindle!

Click here to read the Prologue and First Chapter of Stealing Jake.

Click here to purchase Stealing Jake on Amazon for your e-reader.

Happy Reading!

Doing Something By Not Doing Something

2011-07-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

So far, the summer of 2011 has been one of inconvenience. Breaking my ankle has put a serious crimp in enjoying the weather, outside activities, and just in general doing more. I’m still looking for the teachable moment, i.e. how God will use this as a positive. As someone on Facebook said, it may just be God’s way of slowing me down for a while. It’s certainly done that!

Then yesterday a rather intense storm came through, knocking out our power for nearly the entire day. I can’t even remember the last time we lost power around here, so I shouldn’t complain, particularly since I know there are thousands of customers still without. However… (there’s always a follow-up complaint to a preamble like that, isn’t there?) when you have a disabled child who depends on either television or computer games for entertainment the day can seem extremely long for him and everyone around him. Don’t feel sorry for me — I tried to help out but our two-year-old in a sixteen-year-old body moves a lot faster than I do so I ended up mainly alerting my husband whenever he happened to try taking a break from the general chase. But needless to say, between that and the power outage I didn’t make it to the computer until late yesterday and am only just now catching up.

As I was sitting around feeling just generally useless, one of the things I thought about was how many things we accomplish that have nothing to immediately show for it. Yet they’re the kinds of things that either need or should be done. That definition is just muddled enough to need an example, isn’t it? Here are several:

When I run errands, I expect to arrive home with something. But there are times that while I do accomplish my errands I can come home empty-handed. Like:

When I go to the Post Office, I drop off my packages but I don’t come home with anything unless I stop by my P.O. Box.

Dropping off clothes at the dry cleaners, I come home empty-handed.

I’d add dropping off books at the library, however unless the library is closed and I’m only able to use the drop box, I usually cannot resist bringing something new home.

Things I accomplish by not doing something:

My favorite along this line is losing weight. It’s such a long process, and while exercising or being more active does help with weight loss, the main thing for me is not to eat. I’m reminding myself of this more often these days, being stuck mainly on the couch waiting for my ankle to heal. I have to be vigilant about eating only at meals and not because I’m either bored or craving something when I’m not at all hungry.

Saving money is another thing we do by not doing something: don’t spend money. (Something I think our government needs a lesson in, at least in reducing spending, but I digress.)

Healing a broken bone: just sitting around, resting/sleeping, waiting for the body to do things you don’t even know it’s doing (knitting the bone back together).

I’m sure there are a dozen more things that get done by not doing something, but these are the ones I thought of while off the power grid. Strange how the mind works when you’re just sitting around without electricity, isn’t it?

Accidents Happen

2011-07-06T12:30:00.000-07:00

Not long ago I was thinking life was getting into that "uneventful" mode - you know, staying home too often, generally comfortable. Is life supposed to be comfortable all the time?

Well, our 4th of July holiday made me realize that's how I like it – comfortable and uneventful. I spent the bulk of the day in Urgent Care, not because of any firecracker mishap you might expect, but because I fell and broke my ankle. As my husband likes to describe it, I fell from a one-inch ledge. Actually I was chasing our dog and my ankle rolled from the edge of a driveway on to the grass and down I went – snapping the fibula. Fortunately it’s not a weight-bearing bone, so I’m expected to heal relatively quickly. The folks at the orthopedic office tell me if I can tolerate the pain I can start testing usage as soon as I like. Well, it’s not quite 48 hours since the accident and this morning when I tried standing I broke out in a sweat and felt like throwing up, so I guess it’s a bit soon. However, I still expect a full recovery sooner rather than later!

Of course by “full” recovery at my age I expect to turn into a weather vane and experience some ankle discomfort with each change in air pressure, but hey, at least I’ll know how to dress for the weather.

This is the first time I’m grateful to have a wheelchair in the family. We have one for our Fragile X son, because part of his diagnosis is a connective tissue disorder which makes him tire easily. We take the chair along with us if we’re expected to do a lot of shopping or to places like the zoo or anywhere extended walking is required. So now I’m wheeling around the house and he’s watching me wondering why I’m having all the fun.

Maneuvering the thing did take some getting used to, though – I quickly realized I’m better at pushing than driving it. My husband explained it’s like directing a bulldozer. Well, that was about as clear as mud – I somehow missed the fascination with running land equipment. But when he told me how the wheels of a bulldozer move, I was able to figure it out. Just out of curiosity, did you know there are an astounding number of bulldozer videos on YouTube that have thousands of views? I’d love to know how many of those viewers are girls.

Just after the accident, one of the first things I thought was how glad I was for the timing. I’ve just turned in my manuscript, so I won’t have that added pressure. And my husband is home to help out, although reinforcements are on the way in the form of my sister. Yippee! My kitchen will once again be put in order. Let’s just say my husband is kind of the mad-scientist type who is more concerned about the bigger picture – i.e. the kitchen is where food is found — but not the details — i.e. dishes in the sink or on the counter are minutia with which one need not be concerned.

So between the accident and the holiday, I wasn’t able to get to the computer as often as I’d like, thus my late posting. Mainly I’m sitting on the couch with my foot elevated while catching up on some reading. I’m amazed how tired I’ve been, just sitting here, but the literature from the dr.’s office said that’s normal. I guess a jolt to the system takes it out of us – so if this ever happens to you, be prepared!

I wanted to say in closing that although accidents are never, ever fun, an upside of it all is the many notes and prayers and well wishes I’ve received via email and on Facebook. God has a way of easing things, and it’s almost always through the people He puts in our lives. So thank you!

Writing Update

2011-06-27T05:50:00.000-07:00

So this Friday is the official deadline for my newest project, tentatively titled Bees in the Butterfly Garden. I’m happy to report I’ll be turning in the “finished” product sometime this week, probably by Wednesday.

This book has been downright fun! It’s the first project I've done in a while that hasn’t revolved around a war or someone with a disability, so I can say with all sincerity that the tone is lighter. I must admit with the economy in its present state, worldwide concerns for the future, bloodshed and revolutions going on in so many places, I just needed an escape.

So I went back in time to 1882 New York and dreamed up a woman named Meg Davenport who discovers her father was a thief. Of course, she had no idea how he supported her expensive schooling all these years. After her mother died when Meg was very young, her father wanted her to be raised as a lady, and the exclusive school provided all the right rules.

But just when Meg is ready to graduate, all prim and proper since she’s learned to control her wayward nature, her father dies. It’s then she learns how he made his living, and decides to prove to herself and to those who knew him that she would have been a valuable asset to his work instead of being shuffled away.

Someone she’s eager to prove herself to is her father’s protégé, Ian Maguire. But Ian has loved Meg from afar ever since he first met her when they were children, and he knows the last thing her father wanted for her was to be involved in anything remotely illegal.

And so the two of them have opposing goals: hers to become a thief and his to prevent that very thing.

I think what I love most about writing are the discoveries along the way. Being a seat-of-the-pants writer, I begin with little more than a setting, a basic outline of the big goals, and what kind of character would best be challenged by those goals and obstacles in between.

I must admit there are times when my lack of more thorough planning can lead to some insecurities and frustration, and some wasted time as I explore possibilities. That did happen with this book, as it often has in the past. But perhaps it’s because of those frustrations along the way that I feel so happy when things start to mesh, when the plot comes together as if it was there all along, I just had to find it.

With my next project, which I’m already beginning to ponder, I’m going to experiment with a bit more upfront exploration. I’ll be consulting a book called The Moral Premise by Stanley D. Williams, who is expected to teach a workshop at the ACFW conference I’ll be attending in September. On one hand I’m excited to try something new, but on the other I’m just a little bit afraid to try fixing something that’s not broken. At this point I can’t really explain how the approach will be new to me, or differ from what I’ve done in the past. It’s too new to me to know just yet. But the idea of defining my character’s psychological predicament — not only the physical aspect of obstacles, but the psychological, spiritual and emotional angles — sounds fascinating to me.

I’ll keep you posted!

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-06-22T08:08:00.001-07:00

This week I'm happy to bring you news about the second book in the Hanover Falls series by my friend Deb Raney!

FOREVER AFTER

by Deborah Raney

Forever After is the second book in Deborah Raney's Hanover Falls Novels series from Howard/Simon & Schuster. The first novel in the series, Almost Forever, won the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence and a HOLT Medallion Award of Merit.

Synopsis: Lucas Vermontez was a proud firefighter like his father. Now, not only has he lost his father and his best friend, Zach, in the fire at the Grove Street Homeless Shelter, but the devoted rookie can no longer do the work he loves after being crippled in the tragic event. When friendship with his buddy's beautiful widow turns into more, he wonders what he could possibly offer Jenna. Jenna Morgan is trying to grieve her husband's death like a proper widow, but the truth is, she never really loved Zach. His death feels more like a relief to her. But that relief is short-lived when she loses her home and the financial support of her in-laws. Now the secrets of her past threaten to destroy her future. Almost Forever, Book 1 in the Hanover Falls Novels series, won the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence in 2011.

DEBORAH RANEY's first novel, A Vow to Cherish, inspired the World Wide Pictures film of the same title and launched her writing career after 20 happy years as a stay-at-home mom. Her books have won numerous awards including the RITA, National Readers Choice Award, HOLT Medallion, the Carol Award, and have twice been Christy Award finalists. Deb also serves on the Advisory Board of the 2500-member American Christian Fiction Writers. Her 20th novel released this month from Howard/Simon & Schuster. She and her husband, Ken Raney, enjoy tending wildflowers and native grasses in the Kansas prairie garden in their large back yard. They also love traveling together to conferences, and to visit four children and three little grandsons who all live much too far away.

It all ends up in the dumpster

2011-06-20T04:37:00.000-07:00

Spring and summer are seasons of renewal, months to take delight in the reborn flowers and trees—to enjoy life after winter’s dormancy. So why in the world am I writing about dumpsters?

Well, one showed up on the driveway at an older home in my neighborhood. It’s amazing how the sight of it ignited such an immediate feeling of pain and loss—because I knew immediately the dumpster wasn’t there because of something fun like a major remodeling. I’ll tell you why in a moment, but first I must confess this is not my finest hour as a neighbor, at least as far as knowing my neighbors. While I don’t think it’s a good idea to be a Gladys Kravitz,* always snooping, I do think it would be nice to be part of a community where at least we know each other’s names, or if one of us passes away.

My office is located in the front part of my house, so if I have the blinds open I can see people walking by. In the dozen or more years I’ve lived here, I would often see an older woman walking her two little dogs. She wouldn’t go far, just up then down the block. If I happened to be outside I would wave or say hello, but that was about it. The extent of my knowledge about her is that she said hello with a German accent and one of the dogs was appropriately named “Fritzie.” It looked to me like a cross between a miniature pinscher and a dachshund.

In the last few years there would occasionally be weeks where her husband would walk the dogs instead. Eventually, though, she would return and for months or longer she would once again be the one taking the dogs out for their daily constitutional.

But in the last year or so, I haven’t seen her. After several months went by, seeing only her husband walking first both dogs then, sadly, only one, I assumed she had passed away.

My first thought at seeing the dumpster in the driveway was to wonder if her husband, too, had gone on to eternity. I’m happy to say that although he doesn’t walk the dog any more, I did see him even after the dumpster appeared. And someone, his son perhaps, someone who is at least a generation younger, has walked little Fritzie a couple of times lately. This younger man has been staying there and filling that dumpster. (This is my best effort at Gladys-like observation.)

All in the effort to share how the whole episode reminded me sharply of the dumpster that was delivered, filled, then carted away from the home my parents lived in for many years. Years of accumulated . . . stuff . . . ended up in the trash, after my siblings and I claimed what we wanted to keep.

So as I imagined what was going on in that house down the block, sifting through memories and decay, it reminded me once again to look at the stuff I’m accumulating in my own house with an eye on where it’s all going to end up.

Okay, this is the last posting I’m going to do about death for a while. Because even though I heartily believe that death has lost its sting for those who have trusted in the incredible grace Christ provides, I still recognize its permanence. I may look forward to being reunited with loved ones someday, but this time of separation is still hard enough not to want to dwell on it . . . at least not for more than two blog posts.

So chin up and don’t be afraid to visit next week!

*If you don’t know who Gladys Kravitz is, you’ve missed one of the silliest and unlikeliest classic t.v. shows ever created – Bewitched.

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-06-15T06:06:00.000-07:00

This week I'm pleased to bring you information about the Chiril Chronicles, a YA fantasy series by Donita K. Paul (author of the popular DragonSpell and DragonLight books).

The Dragons of Chiril, the second book in the series, is a re-release of The Vanishing Sculpture (see information below for more detail).

Here's a note from Donita about her books:

The heroine in the first two books of the Chiril Chronicles is Tipper Schope. In her early twenties, she has been in charge of a massive household for the many years following her father's disappearance. In her mind, she has not done a great job. At the time of the first scene, she has been reduced to selling her noted father's artwork in order to pay the bills. Her home is a deteriorating mansion. They have two servants left from the full staff. Her mother's mental health and stability has broken down. The failure of the mansion has caused hardship among those who depended on her father and this establishment. Tipper feels the weight of all the responsibility.

I see strong women face two types of situations: those they chose and those that are thrust upon them. I know a young lady who worked hard to put herself through college to become an RN. She showed tremendous strength and determination to meet her goal, one she had chosen herself. But this same young lady had an abusive parent, an alcoholic spouse, and a relative with a debilitating disease. Obviously these burdens were not ones she chose. With each new obstacle that came her way, she continued on the path she knew God had ordained. And not only that, but she remained a cheerful, optimistic person. As a great mom, she has drilled into her kids, "Attitude is everything."

The character in Dragons of Chiril is also challenged by adversity. Unfortunately, three of the statues she sold to acquire money for expenses, turned out to be the cornerstone of the world she lives in. With the statues separated, the countryside has bizarre eruptions that destroy property and life.

As in real life, with each new challenge, Tipper grows to meet the difficulty. That stretching to do the next thing, the thing we think is just beyond our ability, makes us grow stronger. Tipper's character deepens as she handles what I (the author) throw at her. And she also gains a perspective of herself that eliminates the false guilt. I think false guilt weighs us down more than the reality we face. Tipper does reach a happy ending, but the reader is aware that it is not happily ever after, because the road we travel will not smooth out and be bump-free until we reach Heaven. That's okay. We have the hope!"--Donita K Paul

Join Tipper and her ragtag band of adventurers including Beccaroon, a giant parrot; Bealomondore, an aristocratic young artist; a handsome dragonkeeper prince; the Wizard Fenworth; and the tumanhofer librarian Librettowit. Together they travel through valleys and kingdoms and consort with purveyors of good and agents of evil to find and reunite the missing statues. Will they learn to rely on Wulder’s grace and guidance along the way?

Dragons of the Valley is the first book in the Chiril Chronicle series (2010)

The Vanishing Sculpture (pictured left) is the old title for The Dragons of Chiril, and is the second book in the series (June/2011)

Dragons of the Watch will be the last book in this series, which comes out in October/2011

For more about Donita and her books, drop by:

Websites: Donita's or specialized webpage

Donita's OLD Blog where she gets a chance to share books by fellow authors.
And Other Literary Dabblings

Celebrating the Life of Stephen Bly

2011-06-13T07:23:00.000-07:00

Recently I featured Stephen Bly and his latest book (Throw the Devil Off the Train) here on my blog. As many of you know, Steve passed away last week after a five-year battle with prostate cancer. He was one of those select few able to glorify the Lord by working right up to the final stages of his life. Although he surely is even now meeting with many precious friends in Heaven, those of us who wait to join him have lost the company of a talented and gifted brother.

Please click here to see a brief interview with Steve on my friend Mindy Starns Clark’s blog. She’s taken the time to feature many Christian authors, but offers a video of Steve to share with the rest of us who knew him only through his work. In a separate interview, Steve and his wife Janet recall how their romance began, leading to a nearly 48-year marriage. Click here for a look at that sweet story.

Please join me in lifting up Steve’s wife Janet and their family in prayer, and I hope you’ll take a closer look at the work he left behind for us to enjoy. Visit Steve and Janet's websites at:

http://BlyBooks.com or blog http://BlyBooks.blogspot.com

This week, let's be reminded that everything around us is only temporary—except the people God brings into our lives. Let's do life with an eye on eternity!

New Fiction!

2011-06-09T06:29:00.000-07:00

Here's the newest offering from Roxanne Rustand - and it sounds like fun! Don't miss Roxanne's recipe for Blonde Brownies. Hmm, could it be that blondes really do have more fun?

SECOND CHANCE DAD

ISBN: 978-0-373-87673-0

Love Inspired

June, 2011

Roxanne Rustand

He Was A Challenge She Couldn’t Ignore...

The minute she steps foot in his dark, miserable house, Sophie Alexander knows Josh McClaren is not her usual patient. But the single mom and physical therapist is desperate to make a life for her and her young son. And she’s definitely no quitter! It’s obvious to Sophie that handsome, cantankerous Josh hides his pain behind a wall of grief. Little by little, Sophie and her son, Eli, do more than help Josh find his faith again. They make Josh wonder if there’s a family in his future after all....

Aspen Creek Crossroads: Where faith, love and healing meet.

This book is available at :

www.christianbook.com

www.bn.com

www.amazon.com

and fine bookstores everywhere.

Drop by Roxanne's website and get a free downloadable cookbook. http://roxannerustand.com/cookbook-and-recipes

Here's one of Roxanne's favorite recipes as a tease.

CARAMEL BLONDE BROWNIES

1/2 cup melted butter (no substitute!)
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
1 Tbsp REAL vanilla
2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
1 cup M&Ms

Combine first four ingredients and beat really well, then stir in dry ingredients. Don’t overbeat. Add the M&Ms last.

Pat into a well-greased 9×13 pan, then bake 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Do not overbake–these should be nice and chewy, so watch them carefully!

Hope you enjoy these, and come back again for other recipes. And if you’d like to share a favorite, that would be great!

Roxanne Rustand can be found at www.roxannerustand.com and her "All Creature Great and Small" blog, http://roxannerustand.blogspot.com. If you'd like to see the foal at her house (or barn), drop by http://roxannerustand.blogspot.com/2011/05/new-baby-at-our-houseand-it-nickers.html

To subscribe to her quarterly e-newsletter, which offers prize drawings, family recipes and news about her books, go to: http://roxannerustand.com/newsletter-signup

Commercial Break

2011-06-07T07:54:00.000-07:00

Allow me to indulge my blog in a commercial! Look to the East will be shipping soon, and I just wanted to make sure everyone knows this is a RE-release of the first book in my Great War series. While it’s definitely one of my favorite stories, I’d hate for anyone who already purchased the original version to unknowingly buy the same book twice! (That’s happened to me, but it’s happened to my book-loving daughter on more than a few occasions.)

So here’s the old cover:

And the new:

Isn’t it pretty?

And it goes so well with the other two books in the series!

In celebration of the re-release, I’d like to have a little fun with an imaginary chat that might give you a glimpse into this story.

Ignoring the slight feeling of having a split-personality, today I’ll be “talking” to my character, Julitte Toussaint from Look to the East.

Maureen: Well, Julitte, it’s been a while since we’ve visited! Let’s give our readers a peek at your literary life, shall we? We'll start by telling our readers where you live.

Julitte: I'm from the small town of Briecourt in Northern France—of course this little spot is as imaginary as I am, so I hope readers won’t look for it on any maps of France!

Maureen: What makes this spot special enough to have been dreamed up in the first place?

Julitte: For one thing it’s inhabited by memorable people.

Maureen: I’m glad to see that your self-esteem hasn’t suffered in spite of all I put you through.

Julitte: Haven’t you heard? The book I’m in was a finalist in the Carol Awards and actually won first place in Faith, Hope and Love’s Inspirational Reader’s Choice Contest. I’d say that sets my book apart, wouldn’t you?

Maureen: Yes, although as the imaginary "parent" of my other characters, I do think each one is special. So, other than the memorable people inhabiting your story, what’s so special about Briecourt?

Julitte: I must confess that our little town isn’t known for its hospitality. In fact before the Great War it was probably best that we weren’t on any traveler’s routes. Most people from outside our town tend to avoid us, because we're known to bicker. But when we were faced with a common enemy, we came together . . . Mostly. At least when it counted!

Maureen: Why don’t you tell everyone a little about the story?

Julitte: If we know how to do anything in Briecourt, it's how to keep to ourselves, no matter which side of the town’s feud we found ourselves. If the rest of the world wanted to go to war, what did that have to do with us? Nothing—until the Germans invaded and dug a trench practically within cannon range of our rooftops! What could we do, but find ways to survive? And so we did, each in our own way. We even found a way to help a few stragglers, those unfortunate few caught behind the German line of fire—mostly Allied soldiers, but one who was a wealthy heir trying to get out France.

Maureen: Talking about this wealthy heir is making you blush, Julitte!

Julitte: And why not? He’s handsome! And believe it or not, he finds me—the adopted daughter of a fisherman—fascinating! Of course any visitor to a man forced to hide alone in a basement might be fascinating, but I chose instead to believe that his feelings are genuine.

Maureen: So, you’re helping to hide a man caught behind the lines on the wrong side of the fighting. I think that gives my blog readers a good idea of what the story is about, and if it sounds like something they’ve already read or would be interested in reading.

I know this is a short interview, but in the interest of keeping my blog entries manageable, that’ll be it for now. Stop back mid-week for a peek at a new book from one of my colleagues, and until then, Happy Reading!

New Fiction for the Midweek

2011-06-02T07:29:00.001-07:00

Greetings a little late! This is what comes with summer around this house—flipped schedules, no sense of date or time. I'd follow that description with long lazy days but I never seem to get many of those!

This week, however, I'm so pleased to bring your attention to a new book that sounds like fun from the very title. Happy Reading!

FINDING LOVE IN A CLASSIC WESTERN

Stephen Bly

“Hmmm. . .a compliment from Mr. Race Hillyard. Should I be suspicious?”

“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.”

Catherine studied the faces in the train car window beside them. “You know, yesterday I held you in deep disgust.”

“Has that changed?”

“Yes, today I hold you in mediocre disdain.”

From Throw The Devil Off The Train

The kernel plot idea determines how much the love element majors in my westerns. Will women play a significant part at all? If so, how much? Will there be hints or scenes of romance? If so, what portion does it play?

For some western writers, especially those who focus on the romance market, those are big questions. In fact, I would presume that they factor the love interest first thing in their plotting. Me, not so much. If my main character’s a woman, which it has been for a number of my novels, then her relationship with the men, or her main man, will be key, of course.

A time or two I’ve written about strong women who turn down the potential love interest because of other considerations, such as a career (i.e. Miss Fontenot, Book #3, Heroines of the Golden West Series). My fans and a few editors screamed about this. But that was the way Miss Fontenot decided it. I had to respect her wishes.

Then out pops the idea for my new release, Throw The Devil Off The Train.

It’s a road story inside a train headed west. The grandeur of the West from a train window. The very slow journey, compared to modern transportation, yet cramped, crowded, at times chaotic conditions.

Later, a theme evolved. . .that people are much more complex than first meetings reveal. The hurts and pains, victories and defeats of the past, affect responses in the present. My observation is that most of us hide spiritual and emotional hurts from others. . .and sometimes ourselves. We must be open to what God is doing around us, even through flawed people, to receive the help he sends.

That lead to. . .what if I tossed two cats into a burlap bag, then watched to see how they’d survive. . .or not? This had to be a male and a female. With a long train ride, sparks are going to hit the track. . .somehow, somewhere. Will it be eternal hate or meld into love?

The gal on the train. . .she heads west to escape from her past in Virginia, to a prosperous fiancé in Paradise Springs, a childhood friend. To get a new name. She’s desperate that no one knows her real last name.

She can be as honey-sweet as any southern belle, if she wants to. She and her twin sister, Catelynn, spent the war years in the north at an aunt’s house. While they missed witnessing the violence and ravages of the Civil War, they lost their parents and their estate. Catherine is not glamorous like her twin sister, but her good looks and confident air capture much attention. She’s willing to use her beauty and personality to get things done. . .her way.

He travels west to get justice for his brother’s death. His blunt, stubborn ways leave no room for charm or diplomacy. Independent, with focused courage, he’s in the habit of success at whatever he attempts. His set glare keeps most folks scooting away from him. That suits him fine. He has no use for a woman he considers shallow and manipulative. He also has no fear of dying, because he’s not sure he wants to live. When he sets his mind on a goal, he expects everyone to get out of the way.

After a few gouges and bites between Catherine Draper and Race Hillyard, I could see the trail markings of their story. That’s how I knew Throw The Devil Off The Train was a western romance first, front and center. In fact, my original working title was “Throw Away Heart.” But my editor objected. The Bly fans for this publisher look for a western first, romance optional.

Yet a question still remained right up to the end. Will the Miss Fontenot type independence reign? Of course, that’s up to Catherine. . .and Race. Romance comes late for them. . .perhaps too late.

Yep, they hate each other on sight. Meanwhile, traditional western stuff happens. A holdup, hijack, kidnapping and gold mine swindle swirl around them. . .and something else evil’s on board. Fiery, opinionated and quick to react, can they make a truce long enough to throw the devil off the train?

Stephen Bly is a Christy Award finalist and winner for westerns for The Long Trail Home, Picture Rock, The Outlaw’s Twin Sister and Last of the Texas Camp. He has authored and co-authored with his wife, Janet, 105 books, both fiction and nonfiction. He and Janet have 3 married sons, 4 grandchildren, and 1 great-grandchild and live in the mountains of northern Idaho on the Nez Perce Indian Reservation. Find out more about the Blys at their website http://BlyBooks.com or blog http://BlyBooks.blogspot.com

ON GETTING PLOT IDEAS

for Throw The Devil Off The Train

I don’t have a clue how I derived the idea for my newest release, Throw The Devil Off The Train. Sometimes plot ideas seem to fall out of the sky for me. When I recognize one that I like, I pick it up and run with it, to see where it leads.

I’ve set stories in Colorado and Arizona, in New Mexico and Nevada, in Montana and Idaho, in Wyoming and Nebraska, in Texas and South Dakota. The old western Stagecoach was a road story in a stage. Throw The Devil Off The Train is a road story inside a train headed west.

Idea germs that evolve

The grandeur of the West from a train window.

The very slow journey, compared to modern transportation.

The theme that people are much more complex than first meetings reveal.

The hurts and pains, the victories and defeats of the past form a part in acts and responses in any given situation.

I tossed two cats into a burlap bag, then watched to see how they’d survive. . .or not. After a few gouges and bites between Catherine and Race, I could see the trail and markings of their story in Throw The Devil Off The Train..

Setting A Scene

You’d think after more than a hundred books in print, most of them set in the Old West, that I’d have exhausted every possible location. I’ve used cabins, saloons, dance halls, jails, hotels, cafes, sandbars and most any other place you could name. All, except one. In my newest book, Creede of Old Montana, I set a whole scene inside an outhouse.

As much as I like telling western tales, it was not the time for me to live in. Two reasons at least: health care and sanitation. That doesn’t mean a cowboy never used soap. Some even shaved every morning. Living in a wild and primitive land doesn’t mean you have to look uncivilized.

And I don’t want you to think I’m weak-willed and pasty skinned. I can survive just fine for days, weeks, even months in the wilderness. But I know that sooner or later I’ll be back in civilization that boasts hot showers, waste treatment plants, and flush toilets.

I wouldn’t even mind a footed bathtub. Many fun western movie episodes have centered on bubbly bathtub scenes. But hot baths were a real luxury and only the nicest of hotels would offer such an amenity. Some of the more modest hotels would advertise: Baths 25 cents; Used Water 15 cents. Which, in my opinion, is a great motivator to save up your money when on the trail or hang with friends who smell like you do.

Which brings me back to…setting a scene inside an outhouse.

On a trip to Yellowstone with our teen grandkids, Zachary and Miranda, we stopped to explore at Garnett, a Montana ghost town. One structure that captured the kids’ curiosity: the double set of outhouses behind the old hotel. There was a two-seater for gals and a two-seater for guys. Quite the deal on a busy Saturday night.

Ah, the romantic Old West.

And about that scene in the outhouse…you can read about it yourself after October 1^st in Creede of Old Montana. I promise…it won’t be R-rated. That’s the thing about the classic western genre. Good triumphs over evil. There’s little or no bad language. And sensual details are relegated to the fightin’ and shootin’ only.

WRITING EXERCISE for you:

Create two strong characters. Make one the type the other tends to dislike. Make them so disgusted with each that cannot exist in the same room for several minutes without being at each other’s throats. Then, stick them in a place where they have to co-exist for hours, days, weeks: a cabin, a mine shaft, a train car, etc. Then, write the dialogue. Start out with no descriptions. No identifiers. No narration. Just two voices conversing. Make the words authentic as you can. Then, edit it later.

Do they wind up killing each other? Or total estrangement? Or a truce of some sort? Or a breakthrough to relationship?

STEPHEN BLY’S SPICY ELK CHILI

Many of you have asked me. . .well, only one, maybe two. . .for my world famous recipe for chili. This is an expected and anticipated dish at every Wild Game Feed potluck at our northern Idaho church each November. It’s also a staple at our Broken Arrow Crossing events in the summer. Broken Arrow Crossing is the false-front town I’ve built beside our house. Wife Janet calls it our ‘theme yard.’

So, now the secret’s out. You can create your own chili sensation, Bly-style.

Ingredients:

2-4 pounds of elk meat (for my pals in Quebec, that’s Wapiti meat)

1 16-ounce jar of Pace salsa (“medium” for most gringos; I prefer “hot”)

2 cans of Hormel Chili With Beans (life is too short to wait for beans to soak)

1 green bell pepper (make sure it’s crisp…the red or yellow bells will work good too)

Several fresh jalapeno peppers (don’t wimp out; leave the seeds)

An unending supply of Montreal Steak Seasoning

Red Tabasco Sauce

Directions:

Apply for an out-of-state elk tag from the Idaho Fish & Game Department. Clean your Winchester 1895, 405 caliber rifle. Fly to Idaho and camp deep in the forest along the upper stretches of the north fork of the Clearwater River. Shoot your elk (whether you taxidermy the head or not is your decision). Pack meat in dry-ice and take it home with you on the plane. OR. . .accept that package of wild game meat your brother-in-law keeps trying to give you every Christmas.

The night before. . .put one cup of water, 2-4 pounds of elk (steak or roast) in the crock pot. Season with Montreal Steak Seasoning to taste. Turn that sucker on low, then go to bed.

Sometime the next day. . .drain most of the juices off the meat (yes, you can make elk gravy for breakfast, provided you don’t put it on biscuits that come out of a tube). Place meat in very large pan (the one on the bottom shelf at the back that takes forever to yank out). Dump in your two cans of Hormel Chili Beans (or more if you’re feeding the starting offensive line of the Green Bay Packers, or their equivalent). Important note: never use cheap canned beans that taste like they were soaked in fast food restaurant catsup.

Gut out your bell pepper and carve it into ½ inch squares, then sauté (that means fry ‘em in a skillet, but don’t burn ‘em black or let ‘em get mushy). Toss them in the big pan.

Cut the stems off the jalapenos, quarter them and toss them in. If your fingers blister while cutting the peppers, you have to invite me over for supper. Add a bunch more Montreal Steak Seasoning (bunch=6 tads) and red Tabasco.

Stir everything together and simmer the chili for an hour or so. (Simmer is what happens when you ought to throw another log in the stove, but you wait until half-time of the football game and the fire almost goes out.)

Now, it’s time for the taste test. After stirring the chili again (wooden spoons seem to be less susceptible to corrosion), take a small taste. You may want to add more Tabasco. (Note: if an obnoxious nephew is visiting, let him test the chili. It’s about right if he spends the rest of the day out in the yard with his head buried in leaves, sand, or snow.)

Serving size: this varies. Most times, the bowl is scraped clean with only 10 to 12 people. But, with luck, there will be some leftovers and you’ll get to have it cold for breakfast for several days.

NOW AVAILABLE! Throw The Devil Off The Train, western romance by Stephen Bly

Order through your local bookstore, your favorite online bookstore such as www.Amazon.com or get an autographed copy from http://BlyBooks.com/store.htm

Which Way Is Up

2011-05-30T19:53:00.001-07:00

You may recall this past winter I mentioned we had a plumbing problem. I'm happy to report a second miracle in connection that rather expensive inconvenience. The first was that it allowed us the opportunity to save a salamander (click here to read about that). This second miracle has to do with my hosta plants. (Okay, so I'm using the word "miracle" a bit liberally, but stick with me!)

This is not the picture any homeowner (or their neighbors) likes to see, but this is what our front yard looked like in the dead of winter.

Here is what it looked like after the digging was done:

(Kind of looks like a grave, doesn’t it? But all that’s buried there are pipes.)

After the pipe was repaired, the workmen filled in the area with the same dirt, and when the weather warmed up a bit my husband cleaned it up, flattened out the mound (which, incidentally, also looked like a grave). He saved our burning bushes but never once gave a thought to the hostas that used to fill the area. I assumed they’d been lost with the initial dig, so imagine my surprise when three of them started popping up a few weeks ago.

Do you see the ones in the foreground, the ones that are a bit smaller than the ones farther back? Granted, their arrival is later than the ones that hadn’t been jostled, but after all they must have been tossed and turned with all of the upheaval. I’m just amazed they showed up at all!

Somehow they still knew which way was up. Well, at least three of them did.

I’m sharing this incident because it reminded me of how I feel with my writing sometimes. I must admit there are times I feel like I don’t know which way is up.

I just typed “The End” on my current work-in-progress. I started it months ago with the same high hopes and great expectations, lots of enthusiasm and deep gratitude that I get paid to have so much fun. As usual, I had a vague idea of how the story would end, that the characters would have a happy ending, but as usual getting to that point sometimes seemed impossible. In fact, one day when my husband came home and I’d had a particularly unproductive day, I told him I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to save my characters, after all.

But like those buried plant roots, even though the plot twisted unexpectedly, the story revealed itself after all. On another day when my husband came home, after a “breakthrough” I told him the story was saved, after all. To which he just looked at me with a sort of perplexity and told me I should never, ever try to teach someone else how to write a book. Clearly I don’t even understand the process myself. (Which is of course true.)

These plants (which I can see from my desk) will certainly come in handy when I start my next book and somewhere past the middle but still far from the ending I’ll probably feel this way again. Sometimes my book ideas get twisted and turned and I’m not sure where the end is, much like those tossed and turned roots might have temporarily forgotten which way was up. I’ll recall how something innate kicked in and the process worked itself out.

All I’ll need to do is look out my window for a bit of hosta-inspiration.

New NON-fiction Wednesday - for writers!

2011-05-25T07:40:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the mid-week! As prolific as so many of my friends are, I don't have a new book to share with you this week. But I was contacted by a blog reader, Larry Dignan, who pointed me to an article he'd recently composed in which he compiled a list of 50 books for writers. The list is extensive, and many titles are familiar. Of course some of them I'm not endorsing, such as the intriguing but probably not-along-my-line-of-a-life-best-lived as Naked, Drunk and Writing, or the Communist Manifesto which I have read and didn't see the literary value, but there are others I definitely would recommend, like Strunk and White's classic The Elements of Style and Browne & King's Self-Editing for Fiction Writers (two of my favorites).

The list is worth a peek.

Click here to see it, and happy reading to all of you out there who are like me and always interested in improving the craft of writing!

When "Shirley" Enters Your Life

2011-05-23T04:34:00.000-07:00

For the past few years my husband and I have marveled—in horror—at how quickly our youth seems to be deserting us. We thought things started to go downhill after age 35, but how naïve we were! Aging after 50 is like the downside of a roller coaster compared to the more leisurely downward trend we experienced after 35.

It’s through aging that we met “Shirley.” Shirley is, of course, from the movie Airplane with Leslie Nielsen. In one memorable scene Leslie Nielsen asks in the deadpan style he became known for if the afraid-to-fly character Striker can fly and land this plane. Striker says: “Surely you can’t be serious.” To which Nielsen responds, “I am serious. And please don’t call me Shirley.” (To watch the YouTube clip, click here.)

As my husband and I get older, we’re saying the following more and more:

For me:

Surely I can walk in any kind of shoe.

Surely I can read without my glasses.

Surely I locked the front door before coming up here to bed.

Surely I can remember why I came into this room.

For my husband:

Surely I can still play basketball/volleyball/baseball.

Surely I can recall where I left my glasses, so I can read the newspaper. (Should I tell you about the time he was looking for his glasses and they were on his head?)

Surely I can do pilates to ease my back pain without experiencing vertigo.

Surely I can consume peas, shrimp, and wine all in one meal without getting gout…(Well, that only happened once, but ever since he’s been careful about certain combinations.)

These are just a few of the “surelys” that have become the “Shirleys” in our life. We surely know we can no longer do what we could do even a few short years ago. Most of the time we still feel far too young for so many surelys. What will it be like in ten more years? Or, gulp, twenty or thirty?

Sigh.

Oh well, at least we get to face our Shirley moments together. And we both look forward to Heaven a little more, when the surelys will turn into things like:

Surely we can rejoice in seeing so many of our loved ones.

Surely we can visit with so many other Saints.

Surely we can listen to the angels sing.

Surely we can see God.

So welcome to another week. Surely we can get through another one with more praises than complaints!

New Fiction Wednesday!

2011-05-18T13:41:00.000-07:00

This week I'm pleased to have my friend Rachel Hauck visiting! Here's the latest about Rachel's newest book.

Dining with Joy by Rachel Hauck

Thanks for having me today!

I’m no genius in the kitchen, but my heroine, Joy Ballard, finds herself doing a job she can’t do for all the right reasons. She’s a cooking show host who can’t cook!

When I started this book, that premise got a good laugh from those who heard it. Then, I’d ask, “But what’s that story about?”

The person would shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

I had to ask a lot of questions about what a woman hosts a cooking show when she can’t so much as fry eggs. I didn’t want an insincere, lying heroine. She’s not a manipulator or conniver.

Joy simply found herself filling a job she was asked to do – by her father. She was great in front of the camera. Just not behind the stove.

Not long ago, I stood on stage at church with my worship team praying before the service started. Head back, eyes close, I said in my heart, “Lord, help us. You have to help me. I’m so weak in leading worship. I cannot do it without You.”

While I’m a decent singer, and I can lead the people to worship Jesus, I’m not a musician. I’m not one who can skillfully bring the band and the worship sound together. And until I found myself with a “starting over” band, I never realized how gaping this weakness was for me.

A few days later, I was thinking of all the great worship leaders, singers and musicians. Of great writers. And I just felt weak and inadequate in the two main callings of my life.

Again, I went to the Lord. “Why can’t You find a good worship leader for church? Why can’t you help me be a more successful writer? I see people who are good at what they do, succeeding.”

This is what He said to me. “… most people won’t give me their weaknesses.”

I was stopped cold. I understood that a lot of times God invites us on a journey to participate with Him in some aspect of our lives or others, but because we are not good at that thing, or because we are weak with fear or shame or whatever, we say no.

It’s in our weaknesses His strength is manifest. God is not looking for mighty men and women, He’s looking for weak men and women in which HE can show His might.

Don’t misunderstand, God loves excellence, skill and devotion. While leading worship practices, I have to be excellent as I can be to bring the team and songs together.

I’ll never have a recording or national ministry as a worship leader, but for our little church in Florida, I’m God’s girl. For now.

That, in some ways, is Joy’s journey. She said yes to her father’s desire.

Can we say “Yes?” to our Father’s desire for us? Offer Him all of our strengths AND weaknesses? He’s more than willing to overcome.

In my story, Joy’s secret is revealed and takes a pretty good tumble, but love is waiting to catch her. In the form of cowboy chef and hero, Luke Redmond.

Sigh… Love wins.

One of the things Joy discovers along the way is her father’s banana bread recipe. It’s delish!

Here it is:

Charles Ballard’s Banana Bread

From Connie Spangler

1 3/4 cups flour

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar

1t. baking soda

1/2t. salt

1/2t. cinnamon

2 eggs

3 mashed ripe bananas

1/2 cup oil (I use canola)

1/4 cup plus 1 T. buttermilk

1t. vanilla

1/2 cup choc. chips

1/2 cup p.butter chips

In a large bowl stir together flour, sugars, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon. In another bowl, combine eggs, bananas, oil, buttermilk and vanilla. Add to flour mixture, stirring just until moistened. Fold in chips. Pour into a greased 9-in. x 3-in. loaf pan. Bake at 325 for 1 hour and 20 minutes or until it tests done.

Cool on a rack 10 minutes before removing from pan.

Tips for baking banana bread:

DON'T over mix the batter, just until moistened. Banana bread is always best if after it's cooled to wrap up and serve the next day.

ENJOY!

ABOUT RACHEL:

Rachel lives in central Florida with her husband and writes books from the second floor of what she calls her “turret tower.” A gift from the Lord. Besides “Dining with Joy,” Rachel has written fourteen other novels. Also out is “Softly and Tenderly” which Rachel wrote with country artist, Sara Evans.

Visit her web site at www.rachelhauck.com

Blessings!