You Can Do It!

Last weekend, I experienced my first “So you’re the author,” comment when meeting a stranger.  I very much wanted to look over my shoulder and see if I could pass the compliment on to someone behind me who might be better prepared with an answer. I thought it unlikely another author had walked into the small gathering nestled in the lush greens of the neighbor’s backyard. I fired back my finely crafted response. “Anyone can write a book.” How would I know?

I did some research.  Eighty percent of adults want to write a book. The process involves thousands of grueling hours, alone, at your computer, so we definitely have to leave out the 20% who don’t want to. Of all those who set out to write a book about 3% will finish. I’m feeling better about myself already. Out of the 3% who finish their manuscripts, about 20% will publish them. I thought those stats were fairly high. I guess once writers have their babies in hand it’s easier to stay motivated. That means about six people out of every thousand who want to write a book publish it for the general public.

The great news is google estimates about 130 million books have been published in all of human history. It can be done! I encourage you,  if you’ve had characters keeping you company for years or a burning idea the world needs to hear about to write, and then to write again, and then to write some more, until you’re finished.

When I finally forced myself to complete my novel, I submitted it for editing to a professional editing service and lucked out by working with the well-known American faith-based romance writer Allison Pittman. Her positive reception of my manuscript and encouragement to persevere through all the editing, rewriting, and submitting made a huge difference. I’m going to review one of her latest novels about a pastor's wife struggling with adultery during the Oklahoma dust bowl next week.

In the mean-time, dig out your forgotten pages, begin a new tale, be one of the six of every 1250 adults who publish!

Let me know what it’s about, I’d love to be one of your cheerleaders.      

Rare Condition

Do you ever wonder what kind of people open those disgusting videos on Facebook? Not the pornographic ones, I’m talking about the videos of a man lancing a large abscess on his cheek and the white ooze and puss squirting out into the sink, or perhaps the person pulling out the six inch long ingrown hair. Well, people like me. Enough of the frolicking lambs and cute puppies who look like they're talking. The gross gets my attention.

The battle may be won at the headlines, so here goes. 

          A)  Woman with rare condition fears for the fate of her … Read more!

          B)  Find out what this obnoxious symptom might indicate about your health.

          C)  Everything’s doubled! To see more pics -  Click Here.

Should I take up tabloid writing? Let me go one step further and actually provide the information I promised instead of making you filter through buckets of advertising with no conclusions.

        A)   Ankles

           B)    You are pregnant with twins!

           C)  Aren’t they just the cutest things you ever saw?

The little darlings will arrive in June. Proud parents are our daughter Jamie and her husband Sam. The arrival of the twins brings our grandchildren count up to nine and we can’t wait.

I never would have imagined. Girl meets boy at Christian camp. Boy proposes to girl in a flower filled park with a ring stashed in a pine-cone. Girl says yes! Boy and girl marry in a beautiful outdoor wedding at her parent’s home. And seven years later we have - no, not swollen ankles – a beautiful family (of seven)! 

Ode to Zeke

I’ve lost pets before and I felt sad. But I wasn’t prepared for the chest constricting sorrow of losing our beautiful black Lab Zeke. Still sailing on the high of launch night for my novel All That Glitters I returned home and opened the garage door. Zeke, the faithful greeter and sniffer of all who entered our home, stumbled up and struggled to cross the floor. His hips and tail looked malformed yet they’d been perfectly normal earlier in the day. Lately, he’d taken to making torso sized holes in the chain link fence. He would pull himself through and go swimming with the ducks in the pond across the street. I assumed he must have dislocated his back end in today’s hole which was too small for his large frame. I called a vet friend and Matt and Zeke popped over so she could take a look.

The friend thought it was a tumour and we should bring him by the clinic the next day. How could it be cancer? Three days before he’d romped through the woods as we walked with friends. We hadn’t noticed anything unusual until tonight. Zeke struggled to get into my car the next morning. At the clinic, I shared my dislocation theory with the girls behind the counter. With a quick glance at one another, they informed me my vet friend had already prepared them for Zeke’s arrival. I was still convinced a snappy chiropractic move would set everything aright.

X-rays confirmed cancer. A fast growing tumour had wrapped around the end of his spine and solidified several vertebrae. By the end of the day he couldn’t walk, and we chose to let him go peacefully.

He leaves behind more than a collection of holes in our fence. He leaves behind a hole in our hearts. No more soft whumps against the wall with a black tail to greet us in the morning. No more utter and complete jubilation when we return home, even if we were only gone for a few minutes. And no more shiny black companion to roam the paths and trails through the woods.

“Who knows whether the spirit of man goes upward and the spirit of the beast goes down into the earth?” (Ecc. 3:21 ESV)

We miss you, Zeke, lots.

Zeke after he decided to go swimming in his tux at our daughter's wedding.

Our First Nation Friends

Recent events in the news draw attention to the vulnerability of First Nations men, women, and children. My heart hurts for the missing, the murdered, and the hopeless. In Psalm 82 the scriptures call us to “maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute.” (ESV)

For five years, Matt and I, and a couple of friends, led a youth group on a local native reserve. The following adventure happened on a cold night just after New Year’s.

Looking into the change room mirror, I swiped my fingers through my hair. I’d forgotten a comb; my charges were escaping out the door so the rat’s nest would have to do. We’d brought the youth to town for a swim night to celebrate the Christmas season and we’d enjoyed the diving board and hot tub.

In the parking lot, the eight youth (yes, eight) eleven years and up and jumped into the Ford pickup with Matt and I. Forty-five minutes later red and blue lights flashed at the turn off to the reserve. Matt did the reasonable thing and drove on past it. Normally, we didn’t worry about overloading the truck and we’d never run into anyone who cared. The maximum we’d crammed into the cab was thirteen and it was a lot of fun.

But how were we going to get the kids home without getting a ticket? Matt’s workplace was about a twenty-five minutes  back the way we’d come and he suggested half the kids could take a tour of the gas plant while I drove the other half home. I could come back and get the rest and we could repeat the process.

An hour later, we turned into the reserve for the first time and the check stop was gone. I tootled through the back roads delivering the kids to their homes. At one point, we passed a car in the ditch with flames shooting thirty feet up into the dark sky. A sixteen year old in the back seat told me not to worry as the vehicle had been abandoned a couple of days earlier. Fair enough, I couldn’t help them anyway - roasted alive or not.

Unfortunately, on my way out, the check stop had returned. Still wearing my Exorcist hairdo, I rolled down the window to speak to the officer. “No, sir, I don’t have any identification or a driver’s license. Yes, sir, I realize it’s after midnight and, yes sir, I know where I am. No, sir, this isn’t my vehicle; it’s my husband’s company vehicle. No, I can’t prove that and no, I haven’t been drinking.”

The kind officer let me go. Should he have? Probably not. Was I a menace to their community? I’d like to think not. Although, looking back, we took chances with other people’s kids under the guise of “can’t get enough help.” We shouldn’t have.

I don’t have the answers for rescuing the First Nation’s people, but I know we need to care enough to discover them.  

“Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.” Psalm 82:4 

Anniversary Blues

“Happy Anniversary,” I said to myself looking at the mound of wet clothes in the dryer. After thirty years, I assumed Matt knew how to put the filter in properly. It appears he did not. The dryer door bounced against the filter and stayed open. Thus, my fat jeans were a sopping mess and I needed them to go out in public. Anyone who tells you working your way through party size bags of Cheetos, dill pickle chips, and pretzels will not make a crisis smoother is lying.  They all made me feel better about Matt losing his job; however, not fitting into my regular jeans brought on my current distress. 

Perhaps the man was a little distracted. He’d just lost a job he held for over thirty-three years and planned to retire in. Since then, odd events began occurring in the house like finding the cardboard recycling in the fridge or discovering the garbage he’d taken out to the curb still in the garage.

He wasn’t the only one. An hour later when I went to put the next load of laundry in the dryer I noticed fine blue speckles on the sheets, my bras, towels etc. I’d left a pen in a pocket (something I haven’t done since year one). The pen broke during the wash cycle and the ink refill lodged in one of the holes (ink side out). As the laundry turned in the drum the tip of the refill dispersed its fine decoration throughout the entire load. Aagh!

Life is full of events which knock your world off centre and it’s easy to slip into blaming one another for the small things - the things you can control. We have to force ourselves to encourage one another and to remember the Lord encourages us.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” (2 Cor. 1:3-4 ESV)

I think Matt got it right. Later in the day I came home to find a beautiful anniversary gift waiting for me.

P.S. Matt has found employment! The person showing him the ropes - age 22.

Introducing ... Ginger!

I'm thrilled to introduce guest blogger and author Ginger Solomon. In February she released book two of her Christian romance series Broken Holidays.

Ginger Solomon is a Christian, a wife, a mother to seven, and a writer — in that order (mostly). When not homeschooling her youngest four, doing laundry or fixing dinner, she writes or reads romance of any genre, some sci-fi/fantasy, and some suspense. She’s a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, president of her local writing group, and writes regularly for two blogs. In addition to all that, she loves animals, likes to do needlework (knitting, crocheting, and sometimes cross-stitch), and is a fan of Once Upon a Time and Dr. Who.

Fairy Tale Proposals

If you’re married, how did your husband propose? Mine did it in his parents’ den before we left for a wedding. Not my definition of a fairy tale proposal, by any means, but at least he did get down on one knee.

Of course, a marriage is not defined by the question or even by the wedding itself. Unique proposals are fun to read about or watch. When I looked online as I prepared for this post, I found a website with a post called “25 Creative Marriage Proposals.”

Number one on the list was a sidewalk chalk proposal. The man had saved all the text messages from their three-year relationship and made a path of those messages, leading to him sitting on a bench. When she arrived, he proposed. She said, “Yes” in sidewalk chalk. When I asked my kids about it, they said it was cheesy and time consuming. My girls frowned. My boys laughed and said it was a waste of time to write all those down, and some of their texts they wouldn’t want written for the world to see. I assume the guy in the above scenario skipped some of the more intimate messages, and hopefully some of the more boring ones, too.

There are other wonderful examples of creativity out there, but what if you’re expecting a proposal, and it doesn’t happen? How would you feel? Heart-broken, disappointed, and probably humiliated. What if your significant other didn’t even show up to your date?

In my story, Broken Valentine, prior to the start of the story, Sarah, my heroine, is asked to a “special” dinner by her boyfriend of eighteen months. She thinks… well, we know what she thinks, right?

In comes me, the writer, barging into her story. She’s waiting in the restaurant where they’d planned to meet. It’s also where he took her on their first date. A special place.

Except dear boyfriend doesn’t show. Doesn’t call. Doesn’t text. When she logs into her Facebook page, she sees a post from him on her newsfeed, announcing his engagement. To someone else.  Just imagine how you would feel.

And then to top it all off, she has an audience. Her very attractive waiter arrives, ready with a cloth napkin to wipe her tears… And the rest is written in the book. :D

Suffice it to say, she didn’t get the fairy tale proposal she expected. Did you?

Ahhh, I feel so sorry for Sarah. She's better off without the cad isn't she? 

Being stood up on Valentine’s Day is not how Sarah Sawyer wanted the evening to go. It only gets worse when she discovers her boyfriend’s betrayal. Accepting a ride home from her attractive waiter goes against everything she’s been taught, but her choices are limited.

Michael Richmond can’t let his beautiful, yet heart-broken customer walk home, no matter how tired he is after working fourteen hour days all week.

It might be either the best decision of his life or the worst. Only time will tell if their broken hearts can become one, or if they will tear each other apart.

Amazon

Thanks so much, Ginger, I look forward to reading Broken Valentine! Check out my guest post on Ginger’s site about the conversation of my dreams ...  The Conversation

Follow Ginger Here:

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Clash of the Titles

Greetings blog family,

I am so happy to announce All That Glitters has been chosen to compete in February’s Clash of the Titles. It’s a reader-based contest for Christian fiction highlighting the cover photo and only a one or two sentence summary of the novel. All That Glitters will battle against five other titles released in the month of February for one week starting today. The following is from their website:

Clash of the Titles' ultimate goal is to glorify God in everything we do, including highlighting quality Christian writers. Our next goal is to unite readers with their favorite authors while challenging them to step outside of their preferred genre to try something new.  On a lighter note, COTT is dedicated to the love of good, 'ole friendly competition! 

In our monthly games, several authors face off with their newest novels to see which is voted most worthy by reader standards. 

At Clash of the Titles, YOUR opinion counts! Whether it be during one of our monthly New Release clashes or during one of our annual awards--The Laurel or The Olympia.

Everyone is invited to vote during our new releases clashes, but if you're an avid reader of Christian fiction who isn't also a writer/agent/publicist/editor, a special invitation is extended to you to be part of a select panel of judges for our annual awards!

 

I applied a couple of weeks ago never expecting to be chosen, but the Lord was gracious and heard my plea. Yay! Now I need your help. Please go to their website, using the link below, and cast your vote … 

and tell your friends!

The Trials … of Being Famous

“Let’s go to Disneyland!” our six year old grandson shouted as we climbed into the minibus parked in front of our house. Matt had driven a group of square dancers to an event earlier on Saturday and the bus didn’t need to be returned until Monday. So why not take a late night tour of our small town with our oldest son and his family? First stop, ice-cream.

As tour guide, I shared a running dialogue of famous events and people. The highlights – "At the giant guitar on your right, well known blues player Rooster Davis (my brother) and Ann Vriend played to an enthusiastic crowd six weeks ago. At the brown house on your left, lives a famous author, who just released her first novel. The novel has sold … " Ok, I’ll admit it, I exaggerated. Honestly, it’s hard for a story teller to shut off the impulse to add exciting verbs and descriptive adjectives to their speech.

My granddaughter must have taken a fair bit to heart even though it appeared like she wasn’t listening. She took one of my books to show and tell and regaled her class with tales about her famous grandma. The little sweetheart did a great job and one of her classmates wants to buy one. However, it is NOT appropriate for grade four or anyone still in school, for that matter. The book contains references to human trafficking and life as a prostitute although tastefully done. But maybe her famous grandma and tour guide has learned a lesson.

 “Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble.” (Proverbs 21:22 ESV)

Have you ever had one of those moments when you realize the raised voice and the arms waving about to emphasize a point are your own and you’re horrified? I experienced one of those moments this week. A room full of people, heightened anxiety over Matt’s job loss and off I went - on a rant. The inciting event? A simple statement from someone across the room:

     “I don’t know if I can help people, I haven’t gone through what they’ve gone through.”

Coming on the heels of a discussion about the difference between empathy and sympathy, and my annoyance with people in my life who’ve said recently, “You just wouldn’t understand, you’ve never gone through this,” I became a wee bit excited.

Really, we can’t help people until we’ve gone through what they’ve gone through?  I’ve heard news so tragic I crawled under my bed and screamed at the top of my lungs for fifteen minutes. I’ve also encountered a situation so unbearable I dropped to my knees and scrabbled at the carpet hoping a hole would appear so I could crawl into it. Why wouldn’t I understand? 

Pain, humiliation, rejection, etc. are universal concepts. We don’t need to experience the same source as someone else in order to understand them.

Isaiah 53:3- 4 says Jesus was “despised and rejected by men: a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; … Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;”

Can Jesus really identify with and carry our sorrows if He never lost a child, had his home repossessed, or suffered marriage difficulties. The scriptures say He does. We can empathize too. Although we can’t provide the eternal healing Jesus does, we can come alongside others, identify with their anguish, and reach into their lives to provide a helping hand. 

We all have something to offer our fellow humans. Go for it!

A War Wall?

We watched the movie The War Room and enjoyed delicious pieces of green apple-caramel cheesecake at our church recently. The movie depicts an early thirties couple with a young daughter struggling to navigate the difficulties of marriage. The real estate agent wife meets a fire cracker client who encourages her to take the problems to the Lord in prayer instead of complaining.  You follow the journey of the wife as she resists and then establishes a War Room for prayer in her clothes closet.  In the end, the Lord honours her humility and dedication by bringing the family accountability and restoration.

Kendrick Brothers produced the movie, the same filmmakers who brought us Courageous and Fireproof.  Although more drama than action, the movie causes us to think and encourages a response. Will we sit and complain when things get difficult or will we get on our knees in prayer and call upon the Lord?

I ask myself the question. Matt has worked for the same company for over thirty years, until yesterday. Yesterday he showed up for work and promptly joined the ranks of the unemployed. So what does the lack of income mean for our family? I don’t know. And where will we be in three months, six months, or a year from now? I don’t know that either.

But I do know, “The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.” (Psalm 145:8 NIV)  My closet isn’t big enough to make into a War Room. I would suffocate amongst the skirts and shoes. A prayer wall in my master bath? That might work.   

What do you think?

The Cost of Disobedience

Marriage relationships are under attack, but marriage relationships have always been under attack. Why not try and destroy the basic building block of society which nourishes, protects, and prepares the next generation …

 

Chilly rain drizzled on their backs and soaked through layers of clothing. Their limbs trembled as they sat on the paving stones in the square. Children clustered around their mother’s feet, some quiet - some crying. Why all the whispers, the uneasiness, as their fathers stepped forward to receive the priest’s decision?

According to Ezra chapter ten, after the decision was made, it took three months to dissolve all the marriages of God’s chosen, Israel, to their foreign wives. Three months of undoing families and rendering fatherless a multitude of children who did not make the choice to disobey.

Their father’s knew better. They were commanded by God not to intermarry, yet they chose to do so. And because of their decision, many innocent women and children suffered the loss of a home and a family.

The roots of any sin run deep and cause unnecessary suffering. People we love suffer and those who have not made the choice to sin suffer. May we, even in our day, remember the Lord’s commandments and show our love to Him and the next generation by obeying them.

“I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you.” Psalm 119:11 ESV

Clod or Pebble?

Here’s hoping your Valentine’s Day brimmed over with romance and chocolate!

The origin of the celebration has several versions - my favourite - it’s the recognition of Valentinus, a Roman priest, who lost his head on February 14th, in the third century A.D., for secretly performing weddings for couples who were in love.  The emperor had forbid weddings because he believed single men made superior soldiers.

It wasn’t until the thirteenth century the famous English poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, associated acknowledgement of Valentine’s Day with romance and people began celebrating the day with gifts, cards and candy.

Me? I celebrated the day wiping the runny noses of three little grandchildren who were over for a week-long visit.  Not to be outdone, Matt’s groans reverberated throughout the house as he suffered the near death symptoms of a “man cold”. The evening redeemed itself with a giant bowl of war won-ton take-out and an episode of Dateline! 

In the spirit of the holiday, I’ve enclosed a love poem written by the English poet William Blake in 1794.

The Clod & the Pebble

"Love seeketh not Itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care;

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”

So sang a little Clod of Clay,

Trodden with the cattle’s feet;

But a Pebble of the brook,

Warbled out these metres meet:

“Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to its delight;

Joys in another’s loss of ease,

And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.”

Clod or pebble.  It really depends on the day doesn’t it?

Have a great week!

Are We out of the Woods Yet?

I hereby confess my affinity for pop music. If you hear tunes blaring from my boring, middle-aged- occupants home I’m scrubbing the floor, folding laundry, or doing any myriad of tasks made less tedious by The Top One Hundred at high volume.  

Taylor Swift currently holds my number one spot with her song “Out of the Woods” from her album 1989 released in 2014. The following is the last verse and chorus:

Remember when you hit the brakes too soon?
Twenty stitches in the hospital room
When you started cryin', baby, I did, too
But when the sun came up, I was lookin' at you
Remember when we couldn't take the heat
I walked out and said, "I'm settin' you free,"
But the monsters turned out to be just trees
And when the sun came up, you were lookin' at me
You were lookin' at me
You were lookin' at me,
I remember, oh, I remember

Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the woods?
Are we in the clear yet?
Are we in the clear yet?
Are we in the clear yet?
In the clear yet?
Good

I suggest we never leave the woods in a relationship. We step together onto a shadowed path and hike our way through a dense forest. A forest filled with rough crags and steep valleys where the wind rustles the leaves and the sun peeks through to cast its warmth on your upturned faces. You wend your way together around blind corners and reach back to help the other when they stumble. Don’t yearn for the clearing; it never appears. Throw your arm around one another’s shoulders and relish the journey!

A New Adventure …

To clarify, no, I’m not pregnant. I walked into a room of fourteen women and two men on Monday all excited about working in a new Pregnancy Care Centre opening in our small town. It’s so exciting to be a part of meeting and caring for those who find themselves in a difficult situation.  

Our training began with a fascinating history of abortion and infanticide in the ancient world. Early intellectuals like Plato and Aristotle supported abortion and Plato also encouraged any woman over forty to abort. Many of the ancient civilizations terminated pregnancies through medicinal or surgical means. Upon further inquiry, I discovered many more encouraged bizarre rituals like stepping over snakes or using disgusting compounds like crocodile dung mixed with dough.  

The study reminded me of a verse in Leviticus “You shall not give any of your children to offer them to Molech, and so profane the name of your God: I am the Lord.”(Lev. 18:21) The early Phoenicians offered their children to the arms of a giant bull. The children would roll into the fiery belly of the statue to the sound of drums loud enough to mask their cries. Why? The couples believed the sacrifice of their child would bring wealth to their families and future generations. 

How sad that anyone, in any age, would believe the loss of their children would bring freedom or prosperity. As our instructor said “The fight to protect the vulnerable is not a new fight.” May we have the opportunity and be diligent to support those who stand at the crossroad of decision for their unborn child.

A Special thanks to all those who voted on my reading for the book launch. Sample A won and it was my favourite, too. The printers have experienced delays so it looks like the launch will move into early March.  

Please Vote!

Panic swirls and twists in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps the short winter days and post-Christmas blues are responsible. Did you know last week held the most depressing day of the year? Or maybe releasing my baby, All That Glitters, into the wide world triggered the tension, the shortness of breath, and the questions: 

What was I thinking????? 

Why did I expose my innermost thoughts and character friends to the harsh light of criticism????? And why do I insist on airing the ridiculous laundry of my marriage in a public forum????? 

Ok, my panic attack is over. Why did I do it? Because it’s a dream come true! The current stress is just one of the struggles along the way.

This week I need your help. Toward the end of February I’m hosting a book release at the local coffee shop. I can’t nail down a date as the books have not arrived yet. I plan to do a reading and would like your vote on the following two selections. The actual readings will be longer but the following portions would be the highlights. Please vote on selection A or B through the comments. Or if you wish to remain anonymous, use the contact page to let me know. Thanks so much for your help!  

Selection A

   Vivian’s feet were lead blocks as they entered the last saloon on the street facing the river. The crush of rowdy men in each establish­ment made it difficult to reach the bar. Once again, the appearance of a woman made quite a stir. Both Vivian and Alistair ignored the cus­tomers’ crude comments as they pressed on to speak to the bartender.

   The rotund man behind the bar with a wide smile and three gold teeth spoke to Vivian first. “If you’re looking for work, I have all the waitresses I need.” He continued to wipe the wooden bar with a damp cloth.

   She didn’t care if the man wanted to hire a waitress or not. The last four saloons had made the same comment. It was about time for someone to give more than a flippant remark. She needed to find her sister, and she needed to find her now. She had had enough of the crowds, the comments, and the mud that stuck to her skirt and boots weighing her down like cement. “I’m not looking for work. I’m not looking for a handout. I’m looking for my sister. This is her photo­graph,” Vivian’s arm snapped out with the dog-eared photo coming within inches of the man’s face.

Selection B

   Not a soul was lined up at the plank table used as a counter where Florence Mayberry sat alone winding a hankie around her hand.

    Ben swallowed, the uneasiness building in his chest. “Mrs. Mayberry, it’s time for me to know the truth. Where is Audrey?”

   Mrs. Mayberry didn’t look up as she replied, “In the tent, Mr. McCormack. Take a look yourself.”

   Why did she sound so weary? Had something happened to Audrey? 

  His heart thumped like a drum. Here it was: the moment he’d been waiting for. He was about to meet the woman he’d been dream­ing about for months. He hustled over to the tent flap and lifted it aside. Audrey’s younger sister Caroline and her brother Jonathan were mixing batches of biscuits in large metal bowls atop a steamer trunk. Caroline looked over and then shifted, turning her back toward him.

   “Mrs. Mayberry, she’s not here. It’s only Caroline and Jonathan.” He turned around. Mrs. Mayberry’s head was in her hands. “She’s there, Ben.”

  Nope, he saw only Caroline and Jonathan. His Audrey sure had a knack for disappearing.

   “Audrey come on out,” Mrs. Mayberry called wearily.

   Caroline removed her floury hands from the bowl and brushed them on her apron. Straightening her shoulders, she brushed past Ben to exit the tent and stand beside her mother. 

Me, Matt ... and Barry.

      With the Christmas rush over, I snuggled into a comfy chair and pulled a fluffy blanket around my shoulders. My new Scentsy warmer cast a soft glow as I sipped a glass of wine and listened to the crooning of Barry Manilow. The original 1978 Greatest Hits Album (with nary a scratch) was a gift from my brother. We don’t own a record player anymore but the world’s greatest neighbor does.  A short trip across the street and her antique inspired player – named Nostalgia – was sitting atop my antique oak washstand.

      “Matt, come and sit with me.”  A moment so perfect shouldn’t be wasted.

     A reply from the office barely carried over the music “Give me a couple of minutes.”

     “Looks Like We Made it … “ Barry sang out. Ya, it looks like we did. We’ll be married thirty years in March, and with the Lord’s help, maybe thirty more.

     My head swayed from side to side through “Can’t Smile Without You” and “It’s A Miracle”.

     Matt joined me in the living room. Was it my imagination or were his eyes particularly sparkly tonight?

    “Could It Be Magic?” Barry asked.

    It certainly could be.

     “I just googled Barry Manilow. Did you know he married his high school sweetheart?”  Matt asked.

    I took another sip. How sweet, we have something in common. OK, so maybe I was the only one in high school, close enough. Where was I? Matt’s eyes – right - very blue tonight and that smile “Mmm mmm.”

    “….Baby, I love you …”

    Well said Barry.

    Matt reached over and clasped my hand. Warm fuzzies spread along my limbs.

    “…. I feel glad when you’re glad …” Barry sang in the background.

    “And two years ago … he married a man.” Matt said.

    “Pardon?” I pulled my hand from his grasp and apple juice sloshed over the edge of my glass. It wasn’t wine; I don’t even like wine. I can’t get past the awful taste.

    The moment disappeared as the busyness of the week caught up with me. I covered my mouth and yawned. “Good night, Matt.”

I would love to hear your comments!

Meet ... Jodi's choice!

Depending on the story, picking names for the characters can take a lot of thought. In my novel All That Glitters the time period covers the late 1800’s. I should have determined the age of the characters and worked back to their birth year and checked for popular names of babies in those years. I wrote the entire novel with the main male character as Brett and then changed it to an appropriate name (Ben) after I found out the name wasn’t common during the era. Often a character arrives in my head already named and I can’t see them as anyone else. I’ve also chosen names to give recognition to family members. Both of my grandmothers appear in All That Glitters as secondary characters. I didn’t remember until my second to last reading before publication my oldest son’s name also makes a brief appearance as a farm hand. 

Modern day tales are a little different. Writers recommend the consideration of the personality of your character and the location of the story when choosing character names. I also just learned you should use different first letters to keep characters distinguished from one another. In my new novel, the leads are Lindsay and Lucas. I haven’t decided if they are going to change or not. The names shouldn’t go over the top either: although, I did write in a Habakkuk to add a bit of humour. It’s also suggested you use soft consonants for softer characters, like Amelia for a pleasant travelling companion, and hard consonants for strong characters. Which brings us to Jodi’s choice for naming a character, she chose the:    

 – Muscle bound former military medic from Texas with a cute drawl. He works on the mission rescuing kids from difficult situations and giving them a new home.

And her name of choice is   ….   Cordell Sweet (Cord for short.)

What a great name for a strong character. Unique and memorable, Cord was named after her Grandma’s brother who passed away at the young age of 21. His last name gives a salute to Jodi’s own family.

Thanks so much, Jodi. I can’t wait to see how Cord’s character develops!

You all have yourselves a great week!

And The Winner Is ...

Greetings. Here’s hoping you all had a fabulous Christmas and New Year’s!

They say when writing a novel you should go with what you know. All That Glitters weaves a tale about the Klondike era. Not something I knew, but a time period I found fascinating. Perhaps someday I will write the sequel knocking about in my head. In the meantime, I thought I should follow the advice and go with what I know. The new novel, which doesn’t have a title yet and I call it The Philippines, was inspired by a missions trip Matt and I took with our pastor and seven Bible School students in 2012. The characters do not resemble the students (I promise) who travelled with us but some of the activities and the settings definitely do. The cast of characters grew after I began writing but the main characters are as follows (at least at the moment):

 – Anxiety ridden, professional student with a bad attitude toward men and the church. She’s been kicked out of the nest and finds herself leading a group of students on a mission’s trip to the Philippines.

– Brilliant underachiever who’s loved the above since he was ten and can’t give up on the dream of marrying her. He wangles his way onto the trip as the male leader and finds caring for orphans a stretching experience.

– Goofy, ADD type who talks a lot. He’s impulsive and creative and his name can’t be changed because he’s supposed to be a ridiculous example of names parents call their kids.

– Plumpish sweetheart of a girl with a serious need to please. She’s klutzy and avoids confrontation but can’t wait to spend time with the orphaned babies and children.

– A mini Billy Graham who is out to save the world. He loves to wear suits and embarrasses easily. He’s uncomfortable around kids and new situations but has a knack for matchmaking.

 – Gorgeous, athletic type with a chip on her shoulder. She went on the trip to avoid the cold winter and constantly challenges the leaders. She hopes to find a love interest while on the mission’s trip.

– Muscle bound former military medic from Texas with a cute drawl. He works on the mission rescuing kids from difficult situations and giving them a new home.

Congratulations to Jodi, from Edmonton, AB who won the opportunity to name a character! Next blog we will find out who she named and why.

Have a great week!

God's Sense of Humour - Part Two

I wish the best Christmas to all of you. Enjoy the season with loved ones and friends!

No blog next week. January's sixth blog we'll learn who won the chance to rename a character in my next novel!

. . .

     "I've always wanted one of these,” she said.

     "Me too, I just bought a used one from the cupcake shop. Maybe another one will come up and I can let you know.” I tried to keep the smugness out of my voice.

     "You would do that?"

     Not a big deal. I could let her know when the shop sold off another one.

     “You would give me your mixer?”

     I narrowed my eyes. Was she serious? “I said. I just bought a used one the other day from the cupcake place. I’ll let you know if another one comes up for sale.” I looked over at Grace and she shrugged her shoulders.

     “I can’t believe you want to give me your mixer. That’s so perfect! Ever since the arthritis in my hands has gotten worse I haven’t been able to make bread. I heard these work great.”

     Huh? I glanced over my shoulder and then back to Robin. Why is she hearing something different from what I’m saying? Ha ha, Lord, I don’t find this funny.  Yes, I know they serve You six months out of the year on the mission field.  And yes, I know it’s a sacrifice and they don’t have a lot of money. Sure, I understand You’ve blessed Matt with a good paying job. But no, I still don’t want to give away my mixer.

     Robin reached out and patted the glossy metal. “Thanks, Lisa.”

     All right, I get it. “Merry Christmas Robin- I’ll drop it by on Friday.

     A week later, over supper, Matt asked me what I wanted for Christmas.

    “For Christmas,” I pulled in a deep breath, “all I want is a white Kitchen Aid mixer.”

     “Didn’t you just give one of those away?”

     “I don’t want to talk about it.”

My seldom used, but often polished, mixer.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

God's Sense of Humour - Part One

This week's post is a two part Christmas story of how God taught me a lesson about comparing myself to others.

Remember to join my quarterly newsletter or blog list before December 31, 2015 for a chance to rename a character in my next novel (I'm at the halfway point).

I stepped into the shop; the green and red bells above the door jingled as I brushed the snow from my jacket sleeves. From across the room, the gleaming white curves and bits of decorative chrome called to me. The box-board sign attached said “Gently Used $40.00”. Only forty dollars for that beauty? Thank you Lord!

I remembered the first time I coveted the Kitchen Aid mixer. A bunch of home-school families gathered together to celebrate the Christmas season. The snack offerings ranged from exquisite, home-made, phyllo pastry sausage rolls to hand ground, organic wheat cinnamon buns. My soggy, mixed hors D’oeuvres taken from a yellow box - although fresh from the hostess’s six burner commercial oven - looked like a poor cousin in the amazing spread.  If only I owned a Kitchen Aid Mixer, with an assortment of the twenty-one different attachments available, like the one nestled on the Italian marble countertenor. The culinary world would never be the same.

Growing kids, home renovations, car repairs etc. gobbled up the household funds and my general lack of talent in the baking department meant a top of the line mixer never became a priority. Until now. What did I have to lose? My voice quaked when I asked the woman behind the counter of the cupcake shop if the mixer was still for sale. She nodded and we closed the deal. Carrying my precious bundle home, I dreamt of recipe after recipe. Matt would be so thrilled.

A couple of days later, I went along with my friends Robin and Grace to buy groceries in the city for a local Bible College. We wandered through Costco’s crowded aisles and Robin stopped in front of the Kitchen Aid Mixer display. Her hand reached out and traced the smooth curves.

.... to be continued next Wednesday!