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A Novella Approach



March 2010
I was a bit disappointed
when Yesterday's Promise
was contracted as an e-Book.
It's just under PBG's required
length for a print book.

Novellas are a new thing for me, as a writer. I’ve read many through the years, usually in anthologies such as the Barbour Christmas collections. But it never occurred to me to write one myself until I was contracted by White Rose Publishing, and I have discovered that I truly enjoy writing these shorter works.

That said, please don’t misunderstand: I did not say they’re easier to write. They’re not.

What they are is less difficult to plot. At less than half the length of a full-length novel, these stories simply don’t have room for an excess of sub-plots and cliffhangers. However, it can become quite a challenge to fit all the elements necessary to the storyline into 20,000 words—or less, depending on the project. So the novella becomes an exercise in brevity—a challenge to find ways of saying a thing less wordily, but with equal impact.


“Why should I write a novella, when I can write a novel that’ll actually go to print?”


December 2010

Admit it, that’s what you’re thinking. I know you are, because that’s what I used to think…and I’m not all that different from everyone else. (At least, I’d like to think I’m not.) Getting a book into print seems somehow more like legitimate publication than having an e-Book contract. Books are real…you can hold them in your hand, and folks can buy them—you can sign those babies!

But a very wise woman who happens to know a great deal about publishing convinced me that these shorter stories have their place in the industry and that they can be a boon to an author’s career. She may not even remember the conversation, but I do.

I probably won’t be able to quote her word-for-word, ‘cause my memory’s not that good. I left the half-century mark behind a few years ago, so I hope Nicola Martinez won’t come back with, “I never said any such thing.”

April 2011
If I'd been on my toes,
and clued in to the benefit
of novellas, I might
 have avoided the long
gap without a release
between this book and
the next one...

Here’s what I remember her saying: “I’ve seen a direct correlation between authors who consistently have good sales and the ones who write novellas for release in between their full-length novels.”

I’ve thought about those words a lot. And I’ve come up with a few reasons for that “correlation.” Just my opinion, but that’s what this blog is for, right?

1.         The author’s name remains out there in the public eye, so readers don’t forget a writer they like in between books.

Let’s face it…the length of time between contracts for full-length novels can be daunting. And that’s not even counting the wait between “the call” and seeing the book in print. I was averaging a book every couple of years up until Solomon’s Gate. That’s long enough for a reader to forget they ever read a book with my name on the cover.

2.         The author continues to write.



The temptation to rest in between books is almost irresistible…but a bad idea. Having shorter projects in between keeps the imagination active and the writing skills honed.

March 2012

3.         The author takes home more of the book sales profit.
 

‘Nuff said.

4.         E-publishing is the wave of the future. Why not get in on the ground floor?



Although it still has a ways to go as far as convincing the public to embrace it, e-reading has gained considerable ground in recent years. Almost everyone owns an e-Reader of some kind. Which says to me that e-Books are becoming recognized as “real” books. Readers are learning to appreciate the ease of purchase (order, pay, and be reading within a couple of minutes—and all from the comfort of their recliner); compact storage (yes, I love bookshelves, but they’re never big enough for an avid reader, which means books overflow into every area of the house); ease of transport (ever tried to pack ten Summer reads into a suitcase small enough to fit overhead in a jetliner’s coach class seating—along with all your clothes and toiletries?); and cost-effectiveness of e-Books.

4.         They’re fun to write.

And who needs any better reason than that?

by Delia Latham



Found in the Woods

When my editor, Jamie West, and I were working on the manuscript she reminded me of a wonderful passage in Job 12:7-10. Ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds of the air, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish of the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this? In His hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.
I think of these verses often when I am outdoors or when I talk to others about the wolf I named Lakota in Found in the Woods.

Rather than a fun read like the other Frivolities books, Found in the Woods is edgy with elements of suspense

Blurb:

Beth Phillips returns to Platteville, Nebraska in order to begin a new life and to hide from her abusive ex-husband. The secluded cabin offers a chance to stay hidden and to draw closer to God, but Beth quickly discovers she is not alone in the woods. She befriends a curious, displaced wolf, but instead of fearing the animal Beth finds comfort in his company.

When field biologist, Aiden Holt, follows up on reported wolf sightings, he finds the animal and Beth Phillips. With emotional baggage of his own, Aiden usually prefers animals to people, but Beth's passion to keep the wolf draws Aiden in. Experience tells him the wolf needs relocation. His heart tells him he needs Beth Phillips. He camps nearby to capture the wolf, but can he capture Beth's heart, too? 

Two souls, each lost in their own way, are brought together by one of God's beautiful creations. Will the Lord's path to their destiny be found in the woods?

Excerpt:

Beth’s insides had been fluttery and nervous ever since her fingers grazed Aiden’s back. Had he felt it, too? That zing was still there. She’d folded her hands between her knees, trying to get rid of the tingle, but the connection remained.

It didn’t help that she had imagined being held by him.

Even though the Lord fulfilled her deepest longings, she still yearned for a human touch, the assurance she could be wanted for the right reasons.

She jumped up from her chair, as antsy as Aiden for something to do. She’d been tempted by too many men. Didn’t want to go there. He was a decent enough guy, but too much was as stake for her to be so attracted.

Attraction. Could that be the reason he was restless?

“Would you mind bringing in a couple logs?” She didn’t give him the chance to answer. She yanked his coat off the chair and turned, arms outstretched. Aiden was so close in the small room, leaning forward and invading her space, that her knuckles hit him in the sternum. Awareness of his body heat, his nearness, awakened her nerve endings.

He bent nearer still. She smelled the chocolate on his breath. He pulled her towards him until only her hands fisted in the folds of his coat separated them.

In slow motion, he lowered his head. Only his strong arm supporting her back kept her from falling. She raised her face degree by degree, trying to concentrate on his sparkling, multi-colored brown eyes. But then she saw only his lips as he drew closer. His smell came close to intoxicating her. She was a goner. Aiden tasted as good as he smelled, earthy. Like fresh new leaves, wood, straight-from-the-trees outdoors, and a little smoky from her own fire.

Meeting his lips was as familiar as a recurring dream, yet as frightening as a nightmare.

His arms pulled her to him. The coat sighed to the floor.

She felt her hands encircle his neck as though they had a mind of their own. In Aiden’s arms, Beth felt as fragile as a sapling fighting for survival during the spring storm.

He pulled back. Had he felt what she did at their explosive connection?

She kept her eyes closed, and concentrated on savoring the moment as she felt his warm breath on her face.

The reality of being in Aiden’s arms was an exaggeration of any white-knight fantasy. His arms again obliterated the outside world.

Her whole body jolted at the intensity of their next kiss. The pressure of his lips deepened and swept her away. Sanity eventually returned. Beth turned her head and pushed on his shoulders. Did he react the way she had, with spots and flashes behind her eyelids? Would she reveal too much of those fireworks when she opened her eyes? She didn’t want him to view her as vulnerable.

“I’ve tried to imagine how you would taste.” He reached for her hands and lowered them in his. “You are the real deal, Ms. Beth Phillips.”

No. I’m all mixed up.

Lord, why would you bring someone like Aiden into my life when I’ve had such a weakness for men in the past?

That old looking-for-love-in-all-the-wrong-places phrase hit her full force. Now that she was a Christian, she had no business becoming interested in a man who, by all indications, didn’t share her faith. She took two giant steps backward, until she felt a camp chair against her leg.

But space between them meant nothing. Aiden had slid under her defenses and rattled her solitary foundation.

“I’ll help keep your wolf safe,” he rasped as he bent to retrieve his coat. “Keep your Lakota safe.”

His pronouncement rocked her to the marrow.

As his promise to help the wolf sank in, her mouth remained open. Before she could formulate a response, he shut the door behind him.

http://www.pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/found-in-the-woods

 

Monday's Child by Clare Revell

Based on the new version of the nursery rhyme Monday's Child comes a new series of romantic suspense novels by Clare Revell. One for every day of the week.

Monday’s Child must hide for protection,

Tuesday’s Child tenders direction

Wednesday’s Child grieves for his soul

Thursday’s Child chases the whole

Fridays Child is a man obsessed

Saturday’s Child might be possessed

And Sunday’s Child on life’s seas is tossed

Awaiting the Lifeboat that rescues the lost.

Blurb:


Monday’s Child must hide for protection...


This was not the assignment Luke Nemec expected when he came to the UK—babysitting a beautiful widow. It wouldn’t be so bad if Sara wasn’t such a hostile witness. Despite her complaints and continued jibes, Luke finds himself falling for her.

When, Sara Barnes is thrown into the witness protection programme, she becomes the “wife” of Lt. Luke Nemec, an American cop on temporary assignment with the British police. Despite Luke’s American bravado, she finds he’s kind and considerate in ways her late husband never was.

But things aren’t always what they seem, and Luke soon realizes he’s fighting a battle of two fronts to keep Sara safe. Loyalties are called into question, and he’s no longer certain who he can trust. Luke is way out of his depth. As the threats against Sara escalate, it’s a race against time to find her husband’s killer before Sara is silenced forever.

Excerpt:

Luke smiled at her and offered his hand.

Sara ignored it, staring aghast at Wilcox, shock resonating through her, and not just at his abrupt tone. Was there something wrong with her hearing? There was no rank of lootenant in the English police force, for one thing. Or leftenant come to that. For another, he didn’t look like a soldier, and—wait a minute, did he say marriage? “I’m sorry?”

“Lieutenant Nemec will be with you on a full-time basis. As far as the world is concerned, you’ll be his wife. First name terms only.”

Furious, Sara shook her head. Her eyes narrowed and her lips set. “Oh, no. There is absolutely no way, either in this lifetime or the next, that—”

“Sara—”

“Don’t you Sara me. I am not going to live with anyone, Inspector. Especially someone I’ve only just met. And I am definitely not marrying him.” She glanced at Luke, deliberately pronouncing his title the English way. “No offence, Leftenant Nemec.”

Luke slid his hands into his pockets. “None taken, but my name is Luke. If it helps any, I was just told myself.”

Taken aback by his accent, Sara did a double take. “You’re American.”

“And you’re British.” He tilted his head, flashing his teeth in a broad smile.



Buy Links


Ebook from pelican books

Paperback from pelican books

Pelican Book Group at the RT Book Lovers Convention

White Rose Publishing and Pelican Book Group were well represented at the RT Book Lovers Convention in Chicago a short while ago!

Authors Dora Hiers, Mary Manners, Marianne Evans, and the writing duo of KM Daughters had a blast mixing and mingling with romance readers and authors at the Rosemont Hyatt Regency! Here's a look at some of the fun to be had at Club RT, the Book Expo (E-Book) signing, and the Giant Book Fair (Print Books) signing.

We were all so awed and humbled to support this awesome publishing house! In a very fun--if nerve wracking--honor, Hiers, Manners and Evans presented an interactive reader panel discussing the topic: 'Beyond the Bodice - Lacing Together Faith & Romance." The responses they received about what readers want (realism and modern storylines!) were illuminating, and a lot of fun to discuss! Audience member Katy Lee walked away with a Kindle for joining in the fun!

Hope to see you at next year's RT Book Lovers Convention in Kansas City! Pelican Book Group authors would love to welcome you with open arms!

Our Kind of Town!

 Lacing Together Faith & Romance

 Promo Lane - Lots of Goodies!

 Mary Manners, Marianne Evans & KM Daughters!

 Dora Hiers

 Mary Manners

 KM Daughters

Marianne Evans

Sage and Sweetgrass

Survivor Lanae Petersen finds a moving love letter in an antique and seeks to discover the writer. Sage Diamond is holding on to the memory of his deceased wife. The last thing he needs is a tenacious woman who threatens to uncover his family secret.

While I was writing Moselle’s Insurance (the first novel in the Frivolities series), I determined that Moselle’s mother Geneva (Rainn on My Parade), and her aunt Lanae, deserved their own happily-ever-after. That idea was reinforced by writer friends who loved all three characters. The series is centered around Frivolities, a kooky shop in fictitious Platteville, Nebraska, created by Geneva and Lanae.

Blurb: Diagnosed with a chronic, debilitating illness, Lanae Petersen vows to pursue life to its fullest. When she discovers mysterious love letters hidden within an antique desk, she begins a quest to discover who the young lovers were. Little does she realize that in trying to bring closure to their lives, hers will be turned upside-down.

After the death of his wife, cowboy Sage Diamond wants to be left alone on his acreage in peace and anonymity. When Lanae approaches him with letters to a family member, she not only threatens to expose his family secrets, but also stirs something inside him that he neither expects, nor welcomes. Sage fights his attraction, determined not to fall for a woman whose health is so fragile. Can Sage trust God's guiding hand, or will his fear of losing another love crush his chance for a future with Lanae?

Excerpt: The sky was clear and enormous where it met the horizon. The whinny of horses carried up from a pasture on the other side of the barn. The acreage represented everything she loved about being outside the city limits. Expanse, horses, a sprinkling of trees in the distance…God’s country.

When she caught sight of the cowboy, the vision was complete.

She sighed. Home. How crazy. She felt like she’d come home.

The cowboy rounded the corner of the wood-sided barn that she guessed to be sixty feet long. He loped in the loose way of a man comfortable on the back of a horse.

And she enjoyed every step as he approached.

He even tipped the brim of his hat. “Mornin’. You Lanae?”

Wow was the only thing she could think to say. But she kept it to herself.

Her mouth went dry.

His nose was bent, just off to the right of center. He had a full bottom lip, thinner upper, all accented by what she supposed was a year-round tan. Myriad facial lines gave testimony to a life lived outdoors.

She cleared her throat, mustered up some moisture for her vocal chords in order to answer, “That I am.”

“Sage Diamond.”

When he drew close enough, Lanae was dumbfounded at the impact of his eyes. They were an unbelievable piercing blue with a hint of lavender.

“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” Sage spoke in an unhurried manner.

Lanae wondered if he felt rushed about anything. She started to open the door.

“You always leave your car running?” A hint of amusement tugged at his mouth.

Oops. She turned the key. Great first impression.

He held the door.

Still caught in the lavender blue of his eyes, shadowed now from his hat, Lanae swallowed what felt like the chaff of an August hayfield.

No more singles ads for me.

Frivolities #3, available 2-24-2012 at

http://www.pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/sage-and-sweetgrass

http://www.pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/sage-and-sweetgrass-softcover

Resting in Jesus' Lap

The second week of December I went in for my annual mammogram. I've never had any problems and as far as I know there is no history of breast cancer in my family but so many women are diagnosed every day, that I'm grateful my insurance pays for a yearly exam.

With the new digital imaging, there is no waiting until the x-rays are developed, so I'm usually in and out again in fifteen minutes. No change this year.

However, the next day I received a call from the Women's Health Care Clinic. The radiologist had seen something suspicious and wanted me to come back in for a different diagnostic mammogram. They had an opening the following day. This time I went in a little scared. So many women in our church had battled breast cancer, some several times. I prayed and tried not to worry.

After the second mammogram, I was asked to have a seat in the waiting room and the radiologist would talk to me about the results. The wait was very nerve wracking. I just kept praying and asking God to comfort me. Finally, I was called back to meet the radiologist. She smiled and then showed me some bright white spots on the screen image. She explained these were microcalcifications but she couldn't tell from the picture if they were benign or not. Her explanation is that irregular shaped spots or spots clustered in one area, such as mine, sometimes indicate cancer. She said she would need a biopsy to further assess the situation. I blinked back tears as I agreed.

Next I was asked to go back into the waiting room while they contacted my doctor to get the biopsy scheduled. Fear gripped me with tight fingers. I repeated the Lord's Prayer over and over and repeated Psalm 23 in my head. Then I began my conversation with the Lord. Isn't it wonderful that he can hear us when we are talking silently?

I told Him that I was afraid and that I could not handle this on my own. I knelt at his feet and asked him to take me on his lap and hold me. What a wonderful feeling! I felt His comforting touch and laid my head on his chest and let my worry go. I can't explain the abolute peace which overcame me as the fear washed away.

My biopsy was scheduled for a week later. During that time I didn't focus on the negative. I knew whatever happened God would be with me and all would be well. And it was. The results of the biopsy showed I have fibrocystic breasts and there is no cancer!

Resting in the arms of Jesus, I received the most wonderful Christmas present. In times of trouble He is always with me as well as in the good times.

Musings from my heart...

It's a new year! Don't you just love fresh starts and new beginnings? It's the one time of year where I sit down and take stock of what has been accomplished and what I'd like to see accomplished.

This year I had a shocker. As I sat down to write goals and pray over my writing and what direction God wants me to go in, God showed me something that still has my head spinning. You know, I've always said that I wanted to write to be a pen in God's hands -- to touch other's lives and encourage their faith. I believed that, and yet, gulp... I found myself judging my success (or lack of) by the numbers of books I sold. In fact, so much so that I'm ashamed to say, I became addicted to checking my books rankings at least once a day and sometimes five or six times – within a 24 hour period. (I know – nothing like overkill!) Why is it so easy to get our eyes off the goal and become so sidetracked?

I knew I was going to need some help. I told my husband and one of my sons, who was sitting with us at that time, about my desire to lay my books, once again, at the foot of the cross. It is still my desire to allow God to use them however He sees fit. I asked Glenn and Jonathan to help me stay accountable. They gladly said yes and we made a deal. So, this is what we came up with... if I look at my books more than once a week, I need to wash and dry the dishes when it's their turn. And you know what? Granted, we're only three days into the year, but it's kept me on track so far. :)

I realize without Christ, none of my "work" has eternal value. For 2012, I want to have a soft heart towards God. I want to completely give my writing – any and everything I do -- to Him. And if He wills, and it's time to move on from writing to something different, I want to be willing to give it up. For I know that when I'm walking in fellowship and obedience – that's where He will be able to use me to be His hands and feet and bring about His purposes in my life.

What does that mean for my writing goals for 2012? Well, I'm going to finish the contracted project I have now and then I plan on just waiting on the Lord. I'm confident that He will direct my path. With a new project in the works or not, if I can keep my eyes fixed on Him, it's going to be an awesome year!

With Thanksgiving being late this year, the Christmas season kinda just snuck up on me. Is the same is true for you? The calendar says "Advent" is here, yet up until this past week, I was feeling far from prepared -- in my heart or otherwise. That is until we put up our tree two weeks ago.

As soon as the lights were plugged in, it was like a switch in my heart was turned on as well. This year as never before, the physical acts of preparing for Christmas this week... baking cookies with my children, writing the cards, singing carols... they have all been very special and real reminders of the importance of preparing my heart.

Likewise, I'd like to encourage you to take joy in every little thing that you do over these last few days leading up to Christmas. Whether it's filling stockings, visiting family and friends, listening (or perhaps singing) in a Christmas program, driving by pretty lights, whatever... I hope like me, you'll be able to see these physical reminders in a new "light." May we not merely see them as another thing to check off our lists, but as a means to prepare ourselves for celebrating the greatest gift ever given, Jesus Christ.

My hope for you this year is that you will experience an extraordinary Breath of Heaven as you prepare your home and your heart this Christmas season.

Have a very Merry & Blessed Christmas!
JoAnn

(Photo: Yahoo Images)
--
http://home.comcast.net/~jo.glenncarter

The way in a manger

Yesterday, like many other churches in the UK and probably across the world, we had our carol services. The morning was an all age service with the children taking part and the evening a traditional carol service with readings and a wonderful mix of old and new carols, to both organ and band.

Although a manger isn't where you'd want to lay a new born baby - my daughter has gone as far as parking her playmobil ambulance next to the nativity scene to whisk Mary to the hospital for the birth - it's the very place that the King was laid following his birth. A genuine King size bed.

The children's carol says Away in a manger, no crib for a bed. But Jesus is The Way in a manger. He came from the highest height to the lowest depths. Without the greatest gift of all, there would be no hope, no salvation.

Without Christ, there would be no Christmas. So in between wrapping presents, decorating the tree, singing carols, just take a moment to worship the One who made this possible. Who gave us the forgiveness we don't deserve. And showed us the true meaning of love.

New...from the Sweet Treats Bakery Series

Tessa’s Teacakes by Mary Manners

Tessa, the youngest Spencer sister--and the most impulsive--rushes into the Mount Ridge crisis center bent on saving her brother-in-law. She's ready to handle Brent's abductor, with or without help. What she's not ready to handle is the effect policeman, Colin Phillips, has on her. Romance is the last thing on Tessa's mind. She longs for the adventure and fast-pace of New York City, not being tied to Mount Ridge and a man who insists she shouldn't be so impetuous. After all "independent spirit" is what Tessa does best!

Colin transferred from the police force in Atlanta in order to find closure after the brutal murder of his younger sister. He wants a nice, safe future, not one filled with caring and worrying about another impulsive woman. His sister was naive and unpredictable, and while Colin is drawn to Tessa's spunk and vitality, her willingness to rush into danger scares him. No way could he cope with another devastating loss. His heart must remain closed where Tessa is concerned.

But God has His own plans--and His own way of changing hearts and cultivating love.
http://www.marymannersromance.com

Count Your Blessings

Sometimes I’m so caught up in the day-to-day bustle of life that I forget how very blessed I am. The holiday season is a time to reflect…and hopefully take a moment to slow down long enough to draw a breath, step back, and count the many blessings that fill my life.

I’m thankful for a loving husband—a man with whom a share a real-life romance filled with love and laughter, adventure and fun (I tell my husband he’s cheap entertainment). Tim supports and encourages my passion for sharing the written word. I’m so thankful God brought him into my life.

I’m thankful for my daughter, Danni, who has grown into a beautiful young woman. Danni illuminates my life with her loving, generous spirit. She’s friend to everyone, and has a special place in her heart for the elderly and the hurting. She is truly a blessing to me.

My friends, especially my precious writing friends, are a reason to give thanks. These wonderful people completely understand when I mention the ‘voices’ that speak to me while I’m writing. I love them dearly.

But, most of all, I am thankful for my Lord and Savior, who has given all of this and more to me. What an amazing blessing to know His love and grace are never-ending.

So, as this holiday season begins, I wish you blessings and peace, dear friends. May you take a moment to draw a breath, step back, and count the many blessings that fill your life.

A Pear Tree Becomes A Legacy

Over 30 years have passed since my father transplanted a pear tree in the back yard. He was big on fruit trees, nurturing them and watching them flourish. Ten years after we moved from Hickory Valley, Tennessee, Dad drove 110 miles back just to dig up a fig bush we'd left behind. It now grows on the south side next to the house.

Today, both the fig bush and pear tree produce abundantly. Daddy lived long enough to taste the figs, but passed away before the pear tree produced. I remember him digging around it, fertilizing, and wondering aloud if it ever would bear fruit.

Over the years the fruit continues to increase. In the past month while visiting my mother, I've gathered three bags full of the delicious fruit. Mama has called in friends and neighbors to share in the bounty besides giving loads of pears to us kids. Still, innumerable pears hang on the tree and at least a hundred are scattered beneath it.

While gathering the pears, I contemplated on what Daddy would think if he knew what his efforts had wrought. What if he does know? What if God allows people to look down from heaven and see the fruit their life has produced in the lives of others?

I picked up my heavy sack and returned to the house to find Mama seated in the kitchen working on a Word-Find. She laid it aside as I heaved the sack up onto the table and asked, "Do you think Daddy ever considered he might be leaving a legacy behind when he planted the pear tree? I wonder what he'd say if he knew people come from miles around to gather pears."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, but it seems the tree produces more fruit every year."

A gift that keeps on giving. Who can count the jars of preserves that have been canned from that one tree? I know my dad would be pleased to share his bounty with his small community. You see, he was a giving person.

This brought something else to contemplate. Does everyone leave a legacy? I knew the answer as soon as I asked myself the question. Yes. Whether we know it or not, something we say, or an act of kindness we show to another can become a legacy--changing the person's life. Who knows what results may someday emerge from those kind words or deeds?

My fifth-grade teacher did not live long enough to learn she'd planted a dream in my heart when she announced to our class, "One day Laurie will become an author."

Her words were planted in my heart and not forgotten. Even though I nurtured them through the years, (journaling and writing poetry) three decades passed before I acted on them.

My prayer is for the words I write to become my legacy. For this reason I must always write what God directs and inspires. My desire is for readers to be emotionally healed and blessed through my stories.

The highest compliment I've received? When a reader turns to me and says, "Thank you. Don't ever stop writing. You will never know how much your story helped me."

Smuggler of the Heart, a sweet little "snowy" read ~

Wow, I don't know about you, but we had snow this weekend! I said to one of my boys on the way to church yesterday, "It looks more like Christmas out here than Thanksgiving." :)

This morning, as I was getting ready to stoke up our wood stove I thought how lovely it would be to curl up for a bit with a nice warm blanket, hot drink and a book. If you feel the same way, perhaps you'd enjoy this story~

Blurb:
Disheartened and tired, Samantha Warren returns to Vermont during the winter break. Her passion for history rekindles after finding an old smuggler's chest hidden in her grandparents' attic. Will she be able to return to New Jersey without her heart being smuggled like the chest once was? Or is it already too late?


Excerpt:

Samantha gingerly reached for the newfound treasure. A rush of adrenaline coursed through her body, and her nerves jingled the instant her fingers caressed the soft, worn wood. Just as she knew her own name, she knew there was something special about the small chest.

“That you making a racket up there, Sammie?”

Samantha blew a puff of dust off the curved lid and sat down Indian-style on the painted but worn wide plank attic floor. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Gram.”

Gram chuckled. “Sure, and pigs can fly too.”

Gram might be eighty-something, but she didn’t miss much. She knew Samantha’s passion for history and antiques and how long it had been since she had visited the attic of her grandparents’ beloved 1820s Victorian home. For that matter, how long since she’d been in Vermont, period.

Samantha fiddled with the latch on the chest. Her finger brushed against a small metal protrusion on the side of the lock. In a sudden, swift motion, the latch sprung open and the lid lifted a quarter of an inch, almost as if the chest wanted to share its secrets and stories with her. She lifted it further and peered inside. The musty smell of aged wood and paper greeted her like a familiar friend she hadn’t seen for a long, long time.

She clutched the box to her chest and rushed downstairs. Breathless, she held out her find for her gram to see. “Do you know what this is?”

“I do.” Gram’s eyes sparkled. “And, I must say, it’s good to see there’s some life in you. I’ve been worried about you since you’ve come home.”

Gram didn’t need to be concerned about her. She was a strong independent woman—at least she liked to think she was. Granted, she had felt a little bit blue as of late, but didn’t everyone experience those feelings every now and then in life?

Time to focus on something else. She held the box a bit higher. “The chest?”

Gram motioned for Samantha to join her on the couch. “That chest’s said to have held letters from one of the caves in the Notch.”

“Smuggler’s?”

“You remember the history?” Gram asked with obvious delight.

“Sure.” Samantha nodded. “When I drive through Smuggler’s Notch, I try to picture it as during the War of 1812.”

“Yup,” her gram said. “That was when the good old U.S. Congress placed an embargo on the imports from England.”
Samantha looked out windows to the mountains. “I can imagine smugglers hiding in the thick forest and storing their supplies of food, clothing, cattle, and such from Canada in the caves and caverns along the Long Trail.” She turned back to her gram and matter-of-factly said, “And then of course, a hundred years later, when the U.S. Congress passed a law prohibiting the sale of alcohol, it happened again.”

Gram nodded. “Smugglers avoided the revenue agents by storing the alcohol in the caves where they freely smuggled it through the Notch Pass, down to central and southern New England. Thus it’s aptly named...”
Together, they chorused, “Smuggler’s Notch.”

Samantha smiled at her gram’s joy, which must have been mirrored in her own eyes.

History...her passion. But recently, without her even realizing it until this moment, the joy and excitement she usually felt had fallen flat. She still enjoyed her teaching position at a high school in New Jersey, but her enthusiasm over the last several years had waned. How had that impacted her students? She shook her head, trying to dispel that train of thought.

Perhaps coming back to Vermont for winter break was what she needed—at least she hoped so.
“Samantha, I know I don’t tell you this often enough, but I think you’re a gifted history teacher. I only wish you’d come back home where you belong.”

There were many subjects Samantha would be delighted to discuss, but her personal life, particularly where she did or didn’t belong, wasn’t one of them. Especially since she had been struggling with those very same thoughts moments ago. “Gram, let’s not go there. How about you tell me about this chest instead?”

Gram rolled her eyes. “You’re more stubborn than that old manual lawn mower. I guess I should expect as much with all that red hair.”

Samantha lifted her chin. “It’s not red. It’s auburn.”

Was it her imagination, or was Gram fighting a smile?

Gram coughed in her hand. “Where were we...oh, yes. This chest stayed in a cave where it held correspondence or information from one party to the next.”

“How’d you get it?”

“I’m saving that part of the story.”

Samantha’s heart sank with disappointment. “Why?”

“So I can be sure you’ll come back home, where you belong, from time to time.”

Samantha rolled her eyes and bit back the retort, Now who’s being stubborn?


Reviews: (As posted on Amazon.com)

Deila Latham said: "... What a beautiful, heartwarming, soul-stirring little story! JoAnn Carter says more in thirty-seven pages than many authors can produce in an epic novel. It's a thought-provoking picture of a life in transition, a love in the balance, and a God Who never stops caring. Smuggler of the Heart is good stuff. Period."

K.M Daughters said, " I loved Sammie and Tim (and Grandma, too) at first meeting. Sweet prayerful souls are reunited in this lovely, well-written romance. Sammie's "conversations" with the Lord were beautiful and soul stirring. A must read for anyone who enjoys Christian fiction and satisfying romantic endings."

Kara Lynn Russell said, " This short story is a mini-vacation to snow Vermont. Perfect for a lunch time or break time read."_


Purchase Link: http://www.pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/smuggler-of-the-heart also available through Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Happy Birthday!

Join us to celebrate the second anniversary of White Rose Publishing and the launching of its sister company, Harbourlight Books.

Curt, Convicted, Contrite

We’ve had one day in over two weeks when the heat index wasn’t above 100 degrees. Patience and tempers run short. People are testy. My DH had debilitating cluster headaches for three days. Wednesday it was 109, thanks to 98 on the thermometer, and the high dew point. Hubby went to bed at 8:30.

Not five minutes later, the phone rang. A woman asked for someone who doesn’t live in our home. We don’t have cells or caller ID (don’t ask), and we get a lot of unsolicited calls.

I admit I’ve never been a quick thinker (years ago a kid asked if my refrigerator was running and I went to look), so I didn’t even consider asking who she was or the last name of the individual she wanted. I was curt, and basically hung up.

The phone rang again and the same woman asked for the same person.

I said, “No one by that name has ever lived here.”

She verified our phone number, then offered, “You must get a lot of calls to be so irritated.”

“We do. And my husband just lay down with a horrid migraine.” I didn’t apologize.

She said, “The Lord be with you.”

I was convicted by her click. It sounded so final. It was too late to apologize or search for any more excuses.

Humble, regretful, guilty. That old sin nature can still raise its ugly head. My mind raced to the Lord.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again, but no one responded to my softer hello.

What if it was a test of some kind?

What if the caller really meant to call me to see how I’d handled the ruse?

What if someone was checking up on me to see if I’m equipped for ministry?

What if I missed the opportunity to entertain an angel?

I was once voted Miss Congeniality. If those girls could have heard such a tone of voice, that trophy would belong to another. And a short tone like the one I used would never fly in the workforce.

Contrition ran so deep I couldn’t sleep. There is no excuse for irritability. A Christian has no reason to be rude. And Christians are meant to be in the Word on a daily basis. Oops. It was our anniversary and we’d planned a day away from home, I hadn’t made the time to absorb God’s precious words.

Early this morning, in the wee hours of dark, I turned to Ephesians, Chapter 4. Words are meant to be edifying. I’m reminded to walk (and talk!) in a worthy manner, with humility, gentleness, grace. Forgiveness is a must, because I’ve been forgiven. I’m convinced a kind and loving tone turn curtness into congeniality.

Have you been tested lately?

Husband Material by Annette M. Irby

Husband Material e-book Dollar Download

Hey readers, why do you love reading romance?

I like watching a hero warm up to a heroine, and getting a peek into his heart. Or watching him pursue her. I like watching the characters go after their goals and find love. I like warmth, gentleness, and kindness, and that’s where Christian romance shines. Sure, there are rough situations, but it’s the tenderness between the hero and heroine that brings out a visceral response as we read.

We like watching a boy meet a girl and then overcome obstacles to become a husband. And if he doesn’t start the book as good husband material, we like watching him grow as a character to become a man of good husband material. Right? That’s often why romance readers prefer reading about single people. It’s a fictional journey where that part of our hearts that resides deep inside is accessed and blessed. It’s clean, it’s wholesome, and it all reminds me of Jesus’s love for us, and our relationship with Him.

See, Jesus woos us to Him daily. See that lovely butterfly flitting around in the garden? God created it to woo you. Feel that warm summer sunshine? A gift from your Bridegroom. Smell those flowers? the ocean? the rain? All from the Lover of your soul.

And when we read a good romance (which you’ll find a-plenty at White Rose) your heart is stirred, just as God created it to be. Then, we take those emotions to God and He fills up any empty places in our hearts. Human husbands weren’t meant to accomplish all that God can in our hearts. Marriage is blessed and delightful and refining, and many of our needs are met within the commitment and love of marriage, but for those areas of our hearts where we’re still unsatisfied, God wants to fill those places up.

So, look to Jesus. He’s perfect husband material!

~~~~~

Husband Material, my new ebook, released on July 22, 2011. It’s a dollar download, short romance. CONTEST: Leave a comment here with your email address for a chance to win a copy. I’ll choose a winner on July 29th. 

Here's the summary for Husband Material: 

Wyatt Hansen has no fears about commitment, but only three years have passed since his beloved wife died, and he can't bring himself to break their annual dinner date—that is until he meets restaurant owner, Lara Farr.

Lara doesn't have time for romance; she has a business to run. At least that's what she tells herself so she doesn't have to admit that commitment scares her. But Lara's business is failing, and it just may take a miracle—or marketing analyst, Wyatt Hansen—to save it.

Can Wyatt rescue Lara’s restaurant, help her overcome her fears, and prove he is good husband material?

~~~~~

Annette M. Irby has enjoyed writing since her teen years. If she’s not writing, she’s reading for review, or editing. She is an active member of American Christian Fiction Writers and finaled in their Genesis Contest, 2006. She gives back to writers via her co-hosted blog: Seriously Write. Married twenty years, she lives with her husband and three children in the Northwest. Love Letters was her published book. She currently works as a freelance editor, as well as editing for publishing houses. She is active in her church as a mentor and worship leader. She enjoys photography, nature, and falling deeper in love with Jesus. Learn more at her website.

A Wonderful Celebration & Blessing

As some of you may know, my brother-in-law, John Hilger, was recently ordained as a Deacon in the Catholic Church. He'll be serving in ministry at Queen of Angels Church in the archdiocese of Fort Wayne, Indiana.

The road to receiving Holy Orders was long and intense--truly a calling.

The permanent diaconate formation period in the Catholic Church entails a four- or five-year training period that resembles a collegiate course of study. Diaconal candidates receive instruction in philosophy, theology, study of the Holy Scriptures, homiletics, sacramental studies, evangelization, ecclesiology, counseling, and pastoral care and ministry before ordination. Although they are assigned to work in a parish by the diocesan bishop, once assigned, deacons are under the supervision of the parish pastor. Saint Stephen is considered to be one of the first seven deacons in the Christian Church.

The ministry of the deacon in the Catholic Church is described as one of service in three areas: the Word, the Liturgy and Charity. The vestments most particularly associated with the Western Rite Catholic deacon are the alb, stole and dalmatic. Deacons, like priests and bishops, must wear their albs and stoles; deacons place the stole over their left shoulder and it hangs across to their right side, while priests and bishops wear it around their necks. The dalmatic, a vestment especially associated with the deacon, is worn during the celebration of the Mass and other liturgical functions; its use is more liberally applied than the corresponding vestment of the priest, the chasuble.

For me, the most moving part of the ordination was when the 11 candidates for the deaconate lay prostrate upon the altar, deep in surrendered prayer to the God who called them to this vocation. My brother-in-law was also given the blessing of being able to serve with the Bishop during communion at this very special Mass. Another moving part of the ceremony is when the Bishop rested his hands atop the head of each candidate in blessing, and then gave them each a beautiful, leather-bound edition of the Gospels for use during Mass.

The day after his ordination, John delivered the homily and performed the duties of a deacon at his church home, Queen of Angels. This first mass was referred to as 'The Mass of Thanksgiving' and many family and friends were in attendance. We were truly blessed and thankful to be part of it, too, and witness him living out the call God placed on his heart. Receiving the Eucharist from my brother-in-law, then the Precious Blood from my sister-in-law touched my heart and brought me to tears of joy. Our family traveled bits and pieces of this road right along with him, and cheered him on all the way.

God has claimed a holy warrior in the gifts and talents of John Henry Hilger, and we're so very thrilled for him!

Until next time ~ Blessings!

Marianne
www.marianneevans.com
www.marianneevans.blogspot.com