Girls Write Out

Spiritual Journey in Stories

2012-02-02T10:18:00.003-05:00

I want to talk about the spiritual journey of our characters in our stories. I'm not an expert on this, but I want to share with you how I come up with mine.

First of all, let me say that to give your story a faith thread takes more than an occasional Scripture or prayer thrown in. I think of how God is in my life--constant. I speak to Him throughout the day, read His Word for direction, all that.

Some authors may come up with the spiritual theme first. I like for it to arise out of my plot line. Once I see what my characters are dealing with, I can figure out the theme. Many times, my characters go through lessons that I'm learning. In "Hot Flashes & Cold Cream," my character was dealing with hormonal issues (menopause). So aside from the physical issues (hot flashes, weight gain, etc.), she was dealing with attitudes from the devil. LOL! I knew exactly what my character was going through, because I was going through them!

Maggie's (the main character) spiritual journey was to trust God through the difficulties of life. Take them to the Lord. Regardless of how you "feel," He will see you through.

I don't want my characters to just be Sunday-go-to-meeting Christians, but rather, I want them to walk with God daily. Their warts will show and His grace will shine. It's a wonderful journey.

That's just one way. Maybe you have a different way of figuring out the spiritual theme of the story. What's your way?

Character Growth

2012-02-01T19:30:00.003-05:00

If you've lived any amount of time, hopefully, you've seen your friends (and yourself) grow in character. As writers, we must always consider what our character's arc will be. How they will grow and become a better person. Character is often forged in tragedy. As I was watching "Hoarders" last night, I thought how incredible it is that some people who are raised so abysmally can go on to do great things and overcome their struggles. And some people can turn all that tragedy inward and self-loathe until their house becomes a garbage dump and everyone who ever loved them, leaves.

It is so tragic when people don't overcome their circumstances -- a waste if you will. I think that's why I'm so attracted to really strong characters who take longer to get the message. I mean, I admire Job, but I get King David easier. David was a stubborn character. I mean, God was there for him. God delivered him, but when faced with the beautiful Bathsheba, God forgot about those times. Isn't that the beauty of grace though? It's why I love the Gospel message because nothing can separate us from the love of God.

In today's economy, people are really struggling and we can have so little grace for one another, but if we're on God's character arc, we get to keep trying. I have friends who are really religious, go to church every week, teach Sunday school, etc, but in 20 years, i can't say I've seen any character growth. (God is their judge, not me, I'm just saying from the outside looking in.) And yet, at the same time, I've watched friends go through alcoholism, divorce, church splits and addiction to become better people. Children of God who get why they need Christ.

What kind of Character arcs do you enjoy? Is David too up and down for you? Is Jonah too depressing? What kind of characters either in the Bible or in a book give you encouragement?

One of my favorites is Jack Nicholson in "As Good As It Gets" -- not remotely perfect, but better. Sometimes, that's as good as it gets.

E-BOOKS

2012-01-31T19:05:00.003-05:00

Everyone has been talking about e-books. Christmas is over and we've heard it was a record breaking year for Kindle and Nook as well as myriad others in the e-book wars. I have a Kindle and love reading on it, especially when I'm traveling since I can load tons of books on it.

I received several gift cards for my Kindle in the past few months which is super fun because I can browse and get whatever I want. I was doing just that today and realized something.

I don't even like to look at the cheap e-books anymore. . .

I barely glance at the freebies before I delete the email that tells me about them. If a book isn't at least $2.99, I'm not interested. The $5 -9 range is better. I've found when it comes to e-books that you get what you pay for.

Today when I was browsing at Amazon, I was annoyed to see that the bestsellers included free Kindle versions and books that were very inexpensive, even though I told it to look at only print versions. I did that deliberately to sort out Kindle books so I could make my choice on quality THEN see which ones were available on Kindle. So I can't rely on their filter to help me figure out what books are worth buying. So as we enter this brave new world, if you want to call it that, it's going to be more and more difficult to find good books.

That's my main beef about the self-publishing trend. We need good editors! Getting a book to print takes a village. :) And it especially takes top notch editing. I'm not talking about just typos but the substantive edit that makes a story bigger and better. By the time my books hit the shelves they have gone through myriad readings by more people than I even know. But even more importantly, my editor has deemed them good enough to put on the shelf.

Do you have any techniques for finding books in a genre that you like that are well written AND actually edited? What has been your experience with buying e-books? My daughter is at the same place--she has found so many of the free or cheap books are only worth that. Are you finding it hard to find books you actually want to read for your Kindle or Nook?

Behind the Scenes with "Smitten"

2012-01-29T22:07:00.003-05:00

You may remember when we Smitten girls went on our retreat in the fall. Besides brainstorming the second Smitten story, we were also there to shoot a video which our publisher had arranged for.

Here you'll see we were able to capture a whole 5 minutes of worthwhile material from over an hour of nerves and giggles. We were lucky to get that. Our editor Ami McConnell was there, giving direction--and believe me, we needed it.

Kristin laments a goof that made it into the final cut, but listen, when you're nervous and a camera's rolling, there's no telling what will slide off the tongue.

Last week in an interview, I encouraged listeners to buy Smitten on audio and listen to it during their commute instead of the radio--did I mention this was during a radio interview? Fortunately, they couldn't see me beating my head on the fridge at my stupidity, even as the words were leaving my mouth.

So, be amazed that the video crew managed to salvage five minutes of film. All I can say is, I wouldn't want to see the cutting room floor.

Changes in the Publishing Industry

2012-01-25T13:49:00.003-05:00

With so many changes happening in the publishing industry, writers and publishers alike are nervous. What will happen if eBooks continue with the art department for the beautiful covers and selected fonts inside of the book? What will happen to editing? How will a reader know if something has been edited or thrown out there by someone who claims to be "published" and has just thrown their book on the Internet? It's all a lot of the unknown and we all wait with bated breath.

I'm sure things will sort themselves out soon enough. I own a Kindle, but I still prefer a real book. I like the "pretty" of a book. Its cover and its design interior, so I'm not wanting to see this industry completely go electronic. Although I will say, it's easier to read the Kindle in the bathtub, but then again, I haven't dropped it yet.

My biggest concern is for the publishing houses and my editors. I don't think a non-writer can understand the beauty of a good editor. She knows your voice and she can fill in things for you. She can remind you where you haven't tied up loose threads and she will make the book 100 times better than it could have been. This is my biggest concern. For them and for the quality of the books. You don't want to see my books without editing.

As a reader, what concerns you about the brave new world of books?

LIKABLE CHARACTERS

2012-01-24T14:16:00.004-05:00

Kara and I have been on a Downton Abbey kick all week. We watched all the first season episodes and have one final episode to watch tonight to be caught up. Being so enthralled in these characters' lives was in sharp contrast to another movie we watched Sunday afternoon. We watched The House of Sand and Fog. There was not one likable character in the whole movie. I wouldn't have watched it for more than fifteen minutes but my daughter left it on so I watched it with her. I complained all the way through the movie about how weak and stupid Kathy, the main character, was.

But in Downton Abbey, even when the characters do things that I think are wrong or stupid, I'm still rooting for them because they are displaying some kind of action and strength. I want to throttle Mary for tossing over Matthew and being so petty with Edith. And Edith needs a throttling as well for what she's done. But in spite of their shortcomings, they are strong. They take action. They are admirable for that reason and I'm invested in their lives now. They are movers and shakers. Unlike Kathy in The House of Sand and Fog. She is weak and whiny and lets the wind carry her to the next mistake.

So that's my opinion of a likable character. He/she has to display some kind of strength. I didn't even feel sorry for Kathy. I wanted to kick her to the curb. LOL How about you? What makes you like a character?

And P.S. Blue Moon Promise is shipping to stores this week. I hope you LIKE Lucy!

Weird Weather, Anyone?

2012-01-23T07:19:00.002-05:00

Some seasons are declared the warmest on record, others the coldest. I'm not sure if they keep track of these things, but I think this winter should be declared the weirdest on record.

It started around here (Indiana) with a big snowfall way before Thanksgiving then led right into the holidays which featured mild springlike weather. Santa got disoriented when he visited Christmas Eve and thought he was in Georgia.

We were stunned after Christmas to drive into Vermont for skiing and research and find--no snow. We prayed, however, maybe too much, because the next day 10" fell. :)

New York was springlike on New Years Eve and so was Indiana when we returned home. We finally got a decent ground covering last week. I should mention, by mid January, most Hoosiers are usually sick to death of snow. Not this year. Especially the kids, who haven't had a single snow day.

Then last night, the ground covered with snow, I was awakened by two unexpected sounds. One, some of the loudest thunder I've ever heard. Two, Daisy, giving a sharp bark somewhere in the vicinity of my ear. She's not fond of storms.

All this during a winter that was supposed to include more snow storms, high snowfalls, and extreme temperatures. But winter isn't over yet, and if there's anything I've learned about Indiana weather, anything can change at a moment's notice.

Hey Girls--How do You Compete?

2012-01-20T01:12:00.003-05:00

I'll tell you right now, I hate competing, especially if the competition is against a friend I wouldn't want to hurt. And that's not to say I'd win any competition. Some, of course, are a no-brainer. I could eat my weight in maraschino cherries, and Mel can't stand them, so I'd win that contest without even a showdown.

My mother has a caretaker, Bonnie, who comes to our home every day to help us with Mom. I discovered a sad part of her character the other day--she loves sour balls, sour suckers, sour teas. That's not so bad, I don't suppose. We all have our weaknesses. I'm champion maraschino cherry eater (and cherry seed spitter, but that's a more romantic story about how I won Mel over during our courtship.) But when my husband AND Mom's caretaker compete against one another to see who can suck on a sour sucker the longest without making a face, I can't help wondering what this world has come to.

My favorite source of food competition is hot stuff. Not only hot Mexican sauces of some kind, but horseradish or wasabi sauce that can take the skull right off the top of your head and set it back in place backward.

You can take your ball games and your races and your speed writing. Give me a good ol' eating contest any day until the smoke is catching your hair on fire or your jaw is splitting from the tartness of a cherry sucker.

What's your pleasure when it comes to food competition?

2012-01-19T08:11:00.003-05:00

TODAY IS COLLEEN'S BIRTHDAY!!

Birthdays are such fun. No matter how old I get, I still look forward to my birthday. These days, I'm just happy to have one! :-)

So in honor of Colleen's Birthday, I thought we might share a favorite birthday memory. I can't say I have a particular favorite, but my best memories are of our family gathered around a table laden with cake and candles, napkins, balloons, and remembering our kids' wide-eyed excitement as they gave me their gifts. Special bonding time. Tradition. That's what birthdays are all about. Letting people you love know that you care about them and you are happy they were born.

So let's have a party in honor of Colleen!! Share your birthday memory. Maybe it was someone else's birthday that you want to share. That's okay, too. Let's have fun!

The Woman in Black

2012-01-18T14:15:00.004-05:00

Confession: I LOVE a good Gothic romance. HEATHCLIFF!!! The latest Jane Eyre was really good, too. Now, there's a new movie coming out and I saw a trailer for it last night. It's called, "The Woman in Black" and my son was in the room when the commercial came on and said, "Oh Mom, that looks like your kind of movie."

It's English. It's creepy. It IS my kind of movie. Jane Peart once did a fabulous Gothic series in the CBA . She was the author of "The Montclair Brides" series and one of my very favorites when I started reading Christian fiction. She's gone to be with Lord now, but I always remembered how she transitioned and it worked.

I really liked "Her Fearful Symmetry" by the author of "The Time Traveler's Wife" for the same reasons. It was set in an English cemetery, and just had that element of the outer-worldly combined with day-to-day living. I have always loved the Gothic novel, but then I remember so did Jane Austen, and that resulted in "Mansfield Park" (which is not a great book.) And I think if Jane couldn't do it, what makes me think I can?

Do you have a genre that you really enjoy, but doesn't seem to fit your character? Do you know of any great Gothic novels I may have missed?

CONTEMPORARY OR HISTORICAL?

2012-01-17T11:46:00.004-05:00

I have a new book shipping to stores this week! Don't you love the cover? :)

But it made me think about how tastes change in the readership. Every few years things switch between historical being popular and then swinging back to contemporary. Historicals have been popular for several years now and I have to say I'm not tired of them yet. I've been craving historical movies too. When Kara was home for Christmas we had a marathon of historical movies.

I'm especially fond of turn of the century stuff and what goes on in manors. LOL I love the ins and outs of relationships. The drama, the turmoil of secrets coming to light. Love it!

How about you? Do you have a favorite genre in movies or books right now? If so, why does it draw you?

Delegating chores . . . or not?

2012-01-15T22:35:00.000-05:00

I hate grocery shopping. That's no surprise to anyone in our household where, "When are you going to the store?" is the most common question uttered.

I love it, on occasion, when Kevin makes a grocery run, say 1 or 2 times a year. (He says 3 or 4--and I'm bad with numbers so who knows?) He leaves, and I settle on the sofa, pull out a novel, and wallow in the fact that I'm here, on my comfy sofa, with a lovely book in my hands, and he's milling through aisles and aisles of products that he'll pay through the nose for, products that will evaporate from our shelves in 12 minutes flat.

While I'm lounging in luxury, I always forget what comes next. I don't know why, but I always do.

See, there are certain items I never buy. Never. They are too tempting for my weak self. Oreos. Twinkies. Fritos. Cheetos. Doritos. Any kind of Tos. Hostess cupcakes. Those pink snowball things. Circus Peanuts. Totino's Pizza. Sweedish Fish. The list goes on.

Kevin, not knowing my numerous achilles heels, brings them home, unloads them into our pantry. Then off he goes to work, far away, where he can't see the food, smell the food, or hear the food murmuring sweet nothings, and leaves me to fend off the yummy treats all day. I, with said treats in the house, am like a dog in a room made of peanut butter. I do not win this battle.

So, next time I must get in the car and run the hated errand, I will remember that at least I'll get to choose which foods will be calling my name for the next week. I will win the Hostess battle at the grocery so I don't have to fight the war at home. That is the only way I'll win.

Downton Abbey II

2012-01-11T11:48:00.005-05:00

Downton Abbey is back, and with it, inspiration for all who write. If you're not familiar with Downton Abbey, it's on Masterpiece and very much like "Upstairs, Downstairs." We know the goings-on in the great house for the servants and the masters and it's most entertaining.

It's such a great metaphor for how life is -- how there is the home life that is presented and then, the reality. The reality is people create a lot of their own drama. It reminds me of the first line in "Anna Karenina" which is "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

I notice when a family is happy, the media will do its utmost to tear that apart. Case in point: Joel Osteen was on Oprah's new show on the OWN network. Joel is a generally happy person. The kind of person who is so happy, you almost don't believe it, but I think that's who he is. Naturally, Oprah had to bring up Scripture and what he thinks about gay people.

In the end, his hour-long interview and the discussion on running the biggest church in the world is curtailed by his view of what Scripture says. It's really hard to have an opinion that doesn't gel with society's. Modern-day McCarthyism. But what struck me about the interview is that we as a society, really hate to see a happy family. And what a terrible crisis that is for our country. The desire to tear others down is a natural, sinful instinct and how sad for us.

Drama is great in fiction, but wouldn't it be nice if we could leave it there instead of tear others apart? I vote that we all watch "Downton Abbey" instead!

10TH ANNIVERSARY

2012-01-10T11:24:00.004-05:00

I've gone to Kansas City to brainstorm with some fellow authors for years now. This is a pic of our 10th year. From the back left, Stephanie Grace Whitson, Nancy Moser, Deborah Raney, Judith Miller, Me, Doris Fell (Till) and Rene Gutteridge. We had a great time and I had some super ideas for the book I'm working on. We always go to Nancy's house, and one of the most fun parts of the weekend is cooking dinner together on Saturday night.

One of the most, um, interesting things that happened this past weekend was a fire alarm blaring at one a.m. It was LOUD. Excruciatingly loud. So loud I had to cover my ears. We smelled no smoke and heard no one shouting or anything. There was no accompanying intercom message about this being not a drill so Dave got up and went to check it out. I stayed in the room because we were on the first floor anyway so we could get out the window if we needed to. We found out it was a false alarm but they couldn't get the stupid thing shut off. It went on and on. I got more and more annoyed because we were going to get on the road to AZ the next morning.

I got up and sat on the sofa with my hands over my ears. The blaring just wouldn't quit. It went on for an HOUR. While I was sitting there, the thought occurred to me about how similar this was to hearing the gospel. People get so used to hearing a warning about eternity that they ignore the alarm just like I was ignoring the fire bell. How many times have I ignored other nudges from the Holy Spirit too? I was so convicted I went to the lobby. LOL

What about you? Have you gotten so used to ignoring nudges from God that you've gotten hardened? What has God been trying to tell you lately?

Oh and I love Springhill Suites in Overland Park, KS. They were so apologetic to everyone that they didn't charge us for the night!

Counting the Cost

2012-01-08T19:23:00.001-05:00

This is a billboard we saw as we were driving into NYC over the holidays. I'm not here to bash Herman Cain; I don't know what he has or hasn't done, but well, OUCH.

When I saw the sign I couldn't help but think about everything the man lost for the cost (presumably) of some sinful pleasure. He had a shot at the presidency of the United States, but that's all gone up in smoke now. If he'd known the cost, would he have made different choices?

The thing is, the cost is always higher than we think it will be. Sin is not our friend. It will take us further than we ever wanted to go, keep us longer than we ever wanted to stay, and cost us more than we can ever pay.

Just ask Herman Cain . . . or any of us for that matter.

If we could only count the cost before we fall for the lie--and it IS a lie. I have a good imagination; I should be able to dream up some pretty awful consequences--I do it for my characters all the time. And we can all thank God that when I do fail, our sin isn't posted on a billboard for millions to see.

2012-01-05T08:45:00.002-05:00

I know we've talked about where we get story ideas on here before but yesterday something was so real to me I just have to share.

I've been reading a book on what's going on in Israel right now. I know the conflict is over land, but I just didn't get what it was all about until I started reading this book.

My heart aches for civilians (women and children!) living in a place of constant turmoil and fear.

Okay, so all this has been on my mind lately. I took my grandson yesterday to school with me to pick up my granddaughters. While we were waiting in line to pick them up, we noticed two men on the roof of the school, sweeping. They were wrapped in woolen scarves, gloves, hat and thick coats. My grandson said, "Are they soldiers, Nanny?"

I thought that interesting. From a distance, they did look like soldiers. The broom handles resembled rifles. For a fleeting moment, it was scary. It caused me to whisper a prayer for those in war-torn countries. It also sent ideas swimming around in my head. But then I don't write those kinds of stories. No soldiers in romantic comedy (unless he's a hero). :-)

Well, I just had to share my soldier story, it was so real. Have you ever had anything like that, something you saw, read, or whatever, spark your imagination?

Writing Villains

2012-01-04T19:39:00.005-05:00

Every story needs conflict, and often that calls for a villain or two. Maybe your villain isn't out murdering people (Colleen!) Maybe they're only a catty bridesmaid at a wedding who gives your heroine the stink eye -- they still have to be believable.

What makes us believe a person could inflict evil on another? Usually, it's some internal wounding that the villain carries around with them, but you've got to find that motivation to make your villain or antagonist, multi-dimensional. For example, let's take a man who is a huge presence on the forefront of Christian Evangelicals. He is a master preacher. People are moved by his words to love God more and one day, he leaves his wife and five kids for a beauty queen. Without explanation or any sign of remorse.

There are two multiple ways you could go with his motivation for inflicting such evil on the people he is called to love and cherish. (Keep in mind, this would be the kind of villainy that could have a lot of collateral damage.)

1. He realizes his faith has never been more than a show. He is a fraud, and he wants to get away, but doesn't know how. So he takes the coward's way out because he doesn't want people to tell him that he can come back. He's been preaching the Word for years, he knows what it says. He no longer believes it, and feels it's more honorable to give his wife a chance with someone who can love the Lord and her.

2. Or...the teenager could have been in danger from a trafficking ring, and he has taken her as a bride to protect her because he knows the group would not dare come after the girl when he is under surveillance for the huge scandal.

3. He has attachment issues from a lifetime of being passed around from foster home to foster home and though he wants to be there for his kids and give them a different life, his need to matter is bigger and he can't fight it anymore. He's given his kids more than he ever had, and rationalizes that his wife can sell the house and live for years on the profits.

You get the idea. Find a reason your antagonist acts the way they do. Don't just make them villains. We ALL have the ability to inflict evil. The question is, what would make us do it?

Starting Your Story

2012-01-01T21:39:00.001-05:00

The opening of a story has many jobs. It shouldconnect the reader with the protagonist, establish setting, set the tone of thestory, and pique the reader’s curiosity.

Of all those jobs, the one I enjoy most is piquing thereader’s curiosity. When most beginners are starting out, they tend to pour all the information they know into the first chapter—that was me 15 years ago. This is a sure way to kill your story from the get go.

Instead of dumping out everything you think your readers need to know, dole it out slowly, sprinkling in just enough to make themcurious. This is what will keep them reading. If there’s a past eventthat's causing your protagonist to behave oddly in the first chapter, your readerdoesn’t need to know every detail of that event—yet. Hint at it with aline or two here and there, each time giving another clue. Save the full reveal for later in thebook when the reader is invested and dying to know to whole story.

This takes some practice. How much do you hold back? Howmuch do you tell and when? The best way to get a feel for this is to be awareof it when you’re reading others’ books. When your opening is finished, find a critique partner and see if you got it right or if it needs some tweaking.

Below is first chapter of“The Accidental Bride” which releases on Tuesday (YAY!). See if you can spot the linesthat pique your curiosity.

http://www.denisehunterbooks.com/excerpt_jan2012.html

Hey Girls--Don't Laugh, This is ME!

2011-12-30T00:29:00.004-05:00

Look more closely. This little cutie isn't a bear. At least, I don't think it is. I think this is a sloth, and that's what I've been this month.

Typically, I rush around buying presents, buying the bags to shove them into--I haven't wrapped packages in twenty years--and even sent cards to those who sent cards to me. Due to social expectations, I made dinner, set the table, had Mel put up the tree, starting late so our company could help him finish it. So he's a sloth, too. Sue him.

Then one year we had deep snow on Christmas day. Christmas, of course, wasn't called off. In fact, the silence and peace of that day, when everyone stayed home to ponder Christ's birth in a new way, was a huge blessing to me. No one to complain because I didn't get all the meat off the turkey bone, didn't make the dressing moist enough, forgot to take the giblets out of the turkey before I placed it all, totally frozen, into the oven to bake. No one snooping through drawers in the kitchen and finding private-very private-notes I sent with Mel's lunches. Ahhh...it was pure peace.

I realize it may have been considered an insult for the innkeeper to send Joseph and Mary out to the barn, but I can imagine having the warm body of my own donkey and no noise besides a sheep bleating every so often must have been more relaxing than an inn full of people complaining about their taxes. But who am I to say? I wasn't there. I do believe it started a precedent, though, because Jesus often retreated to the wilderness when the crowds pressed too closely, wise Savior that He was. I've followed His example as often as I could. It's my favorite.

The Mexicans have a special day, January 6, when they believe the wise men visited Jesus with gifts. Since my stepson's wife, a beautiful and intelligent Mexican woman, is due to have her baby any time, they are hoping the little boy will be born on January 6 to receive a special blessing. I do know seeing that little darling--as well as my stepson, Jason, his wife Kenia, and Jason's mother, Linda--will be a special blessing for me this year.

Until I can get out there, however, I will be hiding out here at home, not attending parties or dinners or exchanging gifts, just spending special time with Mel and my mother and writing and being thankful for the special peace God has given us this Christmas.

If you had your druthers, what would your perfect Christmas be next year--what is peace to you?

THE WONDER OF CHRISTMAS

2011-12-27T11:51:00.003-05:00

There is nothing better than the wonder of a child at Christmas. This year Punky is old enough (3) to really enjoy it. We went to church with the kids and she was big enough to pay attention to the video about Jesus and the story the pastor told the children. I watched her little face filled with wonder and it blessed me so much to see the new generation begin to absorb what Jesus did for us.

I was smiling as I read Denise's blog yesterday and it reminded me how even gift-giving is individual. She's great at keeping secrets. I, uh, am not so much. LOL I got the girls Pandora necklaces. There are two charms. One says Best Friend and the other is a teal bead. Teal is for ovarian cancer and it was a reminder to us all of how we've stood shoulder to shoulder with Di and how our friendship has been blessed as we've gone through the fire together. It's a symbol of our belief that with God's help, she will beat the beast. So even as the girls are opening their bags, I'm showing them the necklace around my own neck and telling them all it stands for. LOL I couldn't even wait for them to pull the paper from the top of the box!

So that's why I wait until the last minute for Christmas shopping. I'd end up giving it to the person before Christmas if it's in my house too long! Denise, on the other hand, could probably buy those presents a year out and happily wait with anticipation of the big moment. Cracks me up how different we all are! So how about you? Can you keep the presents secret without much problem or are you like me?

Gift Giving Moments

2011-12-26T08:29:00.002-05:00

The older I get, the more I realize that it really is more blessed to give than receive. Watching the face of a loved one opening a gift they've longed for is priceless.

This year's favorite gift moment was our middle son Chad. He'd been asking for a Rudy Notre Dame jacket for years. Birthdays, Christmases, there that jacket was on the list. But it's expensive so we always opted for other things.

This was the year we decided to do it. Watching his face was so much fun. He didn't expect it--he'd probably given up hope and only put it on the list out of habit. And surprise, I've learned, is half the fun. Seeing his eyes widen and the smile spread across his face was so worth it.

What was your favorite giving moment this Christmas?

Shelby: You've Got a Friend

2011-12-22T08:47:00.001-05:00

Shelby: You’ve Got a Friend

Diann Hunt

Chapter One

Shelby Evans spotted the fire truck at her house and knew instinctively this was not going to be a good Monday.

Maybe she’d been a little distracted on her walk in the park, but she didn’t think she’d been gone that long. But it was such a beautiful September day and she had taken her journal, run into a couple of acquaintances, stopped for a bagel . . .

Clutching Penelope, her seven-pound Shih-poo, Shelby stepped over the neighbor kid’s bicycle on her front walk. Penelope barked at the intrusion of the monstrous truck parked in her driveway and the men winding up the heavy hose.

Nick Majors touched Shelby’s arm, catching her by surprise. She swiveled around to face him.

“What’s going on?”

“Your neighbor reported smoke coming from your house.”

Shelby gasped.

“It’s contained in your dining room. Not too much damage—smoke damage mostly. The fire had just started when we got here.”

She reached for the door and pushed it open. Thick smoke lingered inside the house, causing her to cough. “If this is ‘not too much,’ I’d hate to see what real damage looks like.”

“What are you doing in here?” A firefighter dressed in a cumbersome uniform, a fire extinguisher on his back, gave her a forbidding look.

Nick stood behind her. “It’s all right, Captain. She lives here.”

Thankfully, Nick was a volunteer fireman and could plead her case. She’d be upset if she couldn’t at least see the damage for herself.

Holding a dainty handkerchief loosely over Penelope’s nose, Shelby held the dog close and looked around her dining room area. Water on her floor and dining room table. Wet walls. Though it could have been much worse, the scene overwhelmed her.

She spotted wet broken pieces of wood on the floor and cupped them in her hands. “This was the clock you made me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make you another one for Christmas,” Nick said.

The pieces spilled from her hands and she choked back her emotions. Burying her face in Penelope’s soft, clean fur, Shelby stepped back outside, away from the acrid smell, and took in long deep breaths.

Classes for Social Graces were scheduled to start in two weeks. In this very place. With an apartment-like setup, Shelby lived in the upstairs of her Victorian home and used the downstairs for the school. It had been the perfect arrangement.

Until now.

Shelby had invested most of her money into the house to make it functional for her purposes, so she had little to use toward renting another place while this one was repaired. Her sewing business provided enough, but offered little extra. Social Graces, the place where she taught young girls how to become ladies, was more of a calling than a moneymaker.

She’d have to call her insurance company, then contact someone to clean up the mess.

“We’ll figure it all out,” Nick said.

Shelby nodded. Just having him near sent a rush of relief through her. He was right. They’d figure it out. And God would help her get through this, one step at a time. The tension eased from her shoulders.

The captain came out of the house, talked to Shelby again about what would happen next, and left.

“I have to wash my truck, and then we could stop at the coffee shop to talk things over. You need to get away from this place, the smoke and all, so you can think. Want to go?”

“Aren’t you on duty?”

“I came when the pager went off, but they had enough responders when I got here. Since things are quieting down, Captain just told me I could go.”

One of the other firemen called him over. Shelby watched them as they talked. She didn’t like the growing frown on Nick’s face or the way he stomped back toward her.

“They found out where the fire started.”

“Oh?” She had the distinct feeling she didn’t want to hear this.

“You left the glue gun on in the dining room, Shelby. How many times have I told you when you’re finished to turn it off and unplug it?”

A flicker of irritation gained momentum—especially when she noticed several people looking their way. “I’m sorry, Mr. Safety, but not all of us qualify for the Smokey-the-Bear Award.”

“How can you defend yourself when we’re talking life and death here?”

“I’m not defending myself. I’m just saying we don’t all think of things the way you do. I messed up. So sue me.”

His gaze pinned her in place. “I don’t believe this.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

Shelby knew it was her fault, but he didn’t have to point it out so everyone could hear. “Look, Nick, I appreciate your concern, but you’re not a superhero. Deal with it.” She whirled around and attempted to walk away, but he grabbed her arm.

“Listen, we’re both a little tense right now. Let’s go to the coffee shop and talk about the repairs.”

Shelby lifted her chin. “I need to change my exercise clothes and put Penelope upstairs away from the smoke.” Her anger was really with herself, but when backed in a corner, she couldn’t help taking it out on Nick.

“To be safe, you’d better take Penelope to a neighbor’s house, at least for today. Then you can get some fans and dehumidifiers in there to help with the smell.”

Shelby sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Once she had changed her clothes and taken Penelope to a neighbor’s house, she rejoined Nick. They climbed into his old black Chevy truck and drove past the quaint storefronts that lined Main Street. Shoppers strolled from the candy shop to the clothing boutique. Any other time she would have stopped at Sweet Surrender to soothe her pain with chocolate, but even that failed to tempt her. What was she going to do? This catastrophe would derail all her plans.

Nick swerved into the do-it-yourself car wash. “Be right back.”

“Want some help?”

“No, thanks. I can handle it.”

Shelby sighed. Why couldn’t he get his truck washed at an automatic wash like normal people? She watched as he pulled some rags from the back of the truck and set to work sloshing soap around the vehicle. His arms looked strong, capable. She supposed Nick’s determination to do things himself was what kept him so fit. He grabbed a brush and scrubbed the hubcaps. She decided “fit” looked nice on him.

After the rinse, polish, and dry, he rejoined her in the truck.

The remaining water sloshed off the wheel guards as Nick nosed the truck carefully onto the street and into traffic. The coffee shop was about a five-minute drive away.

As they stepped inside the shop, a wreath of grapevines and violets shifted on the front door. Nick grunted at it, but Shelby ignored him. One problem at a time. That was all she could handle today.

Bold coffee smells greeted them. Adjusting the ruffled border of her periwinkle sweater, Shelby dipped into her small pocketbook and pulled out her debit card.

Nick motioned it away. “This one is on me.”

Natalie Mansfield waved at them from behind the counter. “Be there in a sec.”

“Thanks.” Shelby fingered the small notepad in her hand while they waited.

“Hey, Shelby. Peppermint tea, or are you going to break down and have coffee today?” Natalie gave a big smile, but it faded quickly as she looked at Shelby. “What’s wrong?”

When Shelby hesitated, Nick jumped in and explained what had happened.

“Oh, Shelby, no. I’m so sorry, sweetie. Let me get your—tea, is it?”

Shelby nodded.

“I’ll bring it out.” Natalie took Nick’s order while Shelby found a table for them.

Once seated, Shelby took a quick glance at her friend in the navy T-shirt, work boots, and long jeans. With dark hair that shagged a little long in back and drooped lazily over his ears, she couldn’t deny Nick was handsome in a rugged sort of way. Strong jaw, inset dark eyes. But the stubble? What made a man want to leave little bits of hair on his face? It was like dark confetti strewn about that no one bothered to clean up. Once a mountain man, always a mountain man. How would he ever find a woman, looking like that?

“So have you played your Christmas music yet? It is September, you know.” Nick pulled out a chair and sat down.

Shelby smiled. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Good girl.”

“How about you? Decorated any trees lately?” They both knew they were avoiding discussion of the inevitable.

“Not yet. But soon. Very soon.” He winked.

“Would you stop talking Christmas already? It’s not even Halloween yet, for crying out loud,” Natalie said, easing a cup of tea to Shelby and a plain coffee toward Nick.

Nick laughed. “I can’t exactly fault a woman for enjoying Christmas. After all, that is my line of work.”

Natalie shook her head. “All right, you two, let’s get down to business. What are you going to do about your classes, Shelby? Don’t they start in a couple of weeks?”

“Yeah. I thought I would ask Rose if I could hold the classes at her house until the repairs are finished.”

“Good,” Natalie said. “Now, what about the repairs? Any idea who to hire?”

Shelby turned to Nick. “You mentioned you know someone?”

Just then several customers walked through the door and headed toward the counter.

“Uh-oh, gotta get back to work. Let me know if you need anything, Shelby.”

“Okay. Thanks, Nat.”

“Griffen Parker is back in town. He’s a good contractor and a great guy. I think he knows a little about fire restoration, too. We could see if he’s available,” Nick said.

“Didn’t he do the work on Carson’s cabins?”

“Yeah. Want me to call him for you?”

“That would be great. Thanks, Nick.”

He shrugged and took another drink of his coffee. “I’d better get back over to your house and see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

She had to admire the way he took charge of things for her at a time when she could hardly think straight. “Yeah, I need to talk to Rose. Call me the minute you hear from Griffen.”

“Will do. You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” She said good-bye to Natalie and followed Nick out the door.

“Thanks for your help, Nick. I’m sorry you always have to come to my rescue.”

“Why are you sorry? I want you to count on me.”

“But I can’t expect you to always fix things for me. You have your own life.”

“That’s what friends do, Shelby. Period. I want you to come to me for anything you need.”

Shelby saw the disappointment on Nick’s face, so she said nothing further. Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, she did need him.

* * *

Those flowered wreaths had been springing up all over town for months. Nick grunted. Losing the mill was one thing, but now Smitten was on its way to being the laughingstock of the state.

Rolling down the roadway, Nick’s truck chugged and groaned. Its big tires crunched and stirred up gravel dust behind the taillights. With a crank of the handle, he rolled up his window from the chill. He needed to finish his cup of hot coffee to get his mind off of what those women were trying to do to the town. He let out a sigh. He knew they meant well, but this was his town. He’d lived there all his life, and he couldn’t stand by and just let them turn it into a “girly” town, could he?

His thoughts turned to Shelby and the way she had looked at her house. Her eyes, dark pools shadowed with fear beneath thick fringy lashes, the tinge of pink that stained her cheeks. In one protective moment, he wanted to scoop her dainty form into his arms and hold her close.

He shook his head. You’re thinking nonsense, dude.

Passing the church, he spotted the violet wreath on the front doors. His sour mood zipped back into place. Seemed to him the church should stay neutral on such matters. Regardless of what the pastor said about the wreath standing for faith in the town’s survival, the fact that little Mia came up with the idea told him it was a nod for the women and their ridiculous idea to make Smitten a romance capital. If he’d wanted to live in a love capital, he’d have moved to the Poconos.

Women. The big ones and the little ones were all the same. He should thank his lucky stars he didn’t have any around his house. He took a careful swig from his paper cup, then let out the kind of sigh that came with thinking ahead.

Frank Sinatra’s voice called from his cell phone, and Nick clicked his finger on his Bluetooth. “Hello?”

“Nick?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Catherine Givens.”

His body sprang to attention. He hadn’t talked to his mother-in-law since the day of the divorce. She hadn’t been exactly civil at the time.

“Hi, Mrs. Givens.” The words felt strange as they slipped off his tongue. He had called her Catherine once upon a time.

A cold pause hovered between them, causing a thread of fear to wind through him. “Is Willow all right?”

His twelve-year-old daughter barely talked to him when he called her each week, and she acknowledged his gifts with forced thanks. Still, he loved her deeply. Unfortunately, there were more than miles between them.

“Willow is fine. It’s Camilla.”

He could only imagine what his ex-wife had gotten herself into now. She and her high society friends always seemed to stir up something.

“What about her?” He braced himself. When things like this came up, it usually cost him money.

“She’s dead.” The way she said that, as though Camilla had the nerve to intrude upon her organized plans, sent a momentary wave of compassion through him for his ex-wife. He didn’t know what to say. Though there had been no love lost between them in the last few years, she was at one time his wife and would always be the mother of his child.

Nick eased his truck to the side of the road so the vehicles behind him could pass.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard,” he said, his tongue thick, throat dry. Say what you would about Camilla, he’d never imagined her . . . dead. “What happened?” he whispered.

“A yachting accident.”

He took a minute to digest the news. Then another thought crashed into his head like a tree downed in a storm. “Where’s Willow?”

“She’s with me.”

He bristled. “I’ll come get her.”

“Yes, I supposed you would. Of course, Charles and I would be happy to have her stay here, but we travel so much and she would . . .”

Get in the way. Like mother, like daughter. “I’m her father. She should be here.”

“Yes.”

Just as he suspected, no argument. The sooner he got Willow, the better. Poor thing. She hardly knew him, and now she had lost her mother. He’d make it up to her somehow. He had to.

He took down the particulars on the funeral and made arrangements to take Willow home with him afterwards. He clicked off his cell phone and realized his hands were shaking.

* * *

“Are you all right, honey? I’ve been out of town and just heard the news.” Shelby’s next-door neighbor stood at the front door.

Shelby opened the door. “Come on in.”

Rose Garner, Natalie’s aunt, stepped inside. Her silver hair, threaded with black strands, was pulled back into a flawless knot at the nape of her long neck. Her complexion, fresh and glowing, made her look twenty years younger than her age of sixty-two. A soft white blouse and trim dark pants gave her tall, lithe body an elegant appearance that matched her gentle nature.

Shelby took her into the dining room and showed her the damage.

“My, my.” She turned to Shelby. “I’m just so thankful you’re all right.”

“I’m thankful that none of my sewing projects was ruined. Several of the outfits have deadlines, and that would have really put me behind.”

Rose nodded.

“Would you like to go upstairs?”

“No, thank you, sweetie. I can’t stay. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” They stepped back outside. “By the way, what are you going to do about your classes?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about that—”

“Yes, of course you may hold your classes at my house,” Rose said with a smile.

“You’re such a blessing. Just like your niece.” Shelby smiled, thinking how Natalie and Rose shared the same spirit. “Thank you, Rose.”

“The blessing is mine.” Rose gave Shelby a hug. “While I’m thinking of it, do you still want my help when you get to the dining etiquette section?”

“Absolutely,” Shelby said.

“Wonderful. Have you found someone to do the repairs?”

“Nick contacted Griffen Parker for me, and he’s agreed to do the job.”

“Nick is quite the gentleman.”

Shelby thought that an interesting comment. Nick was a great friend, no doubt about it, but “gentleman”? Somehow an ax-wielding, whiskered mountain man did not conjure up a gentleman in her mind.

“Well, I’d better get going. We’ll talk later about the classes. Bring over whatever you need anytime. I’ll get my dining room ready.”

Shelby waved good-bye and stepped back inside, wondering where to begin.

Smitten Chapter 1 -- Julia

2011-12-21T12:17:00.000-05:00

Julia: Small Town, Big Dreams

Kristin Billerbeck

Chapter One

Julia Bourne paced in front of the metal hangar at Smitten’s regional airport. There’s nothing to be nervous about, she told herself, but her body wouldn’t comply. No amount of positive thinking would allow her to relax. Her dress, a simple cotton sheath from Tahari’s previous season, clung to her in the sticky June heat. She wished she could stay cool under pressure like one of her New York socialite clients, but Julia wore her nerves like a conspicuous piece of jewelry.
It was bad enough she’d had to endure the stares of the town as she walked about in stilettos, but to convince Devlin Stovich that Smitten was ready for an upscale spa seemed utterly ridiculous at the moment. One local coffee shop and a few dessert places didn’t exactly scream Fifth Avenue. She felt like a child wobbling about in her mother’s high heels, and her hometown felt like preschool next to the sophistication of New York City. At that moment she wanted to abandon the whole scheme and beg Devlin to let her have her job back.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Her mom still needed her. Smitten’s mill was closed now, and all that remained of the once bustling logging town were the Sugarcreek Mountain Ski Resort ten minutes outside of town and one square block of struggling but infinitely quaint shops and a few modest inns. Julia and her friends were convinced that the town’s only hope of success was to redefine itself as a romantic destination, worthy of hometown hero and country singing sensation Sawyer Smitten’s Hollywood-style wedding. Any romantic destination needed what Smitten had to offer: gorgeous scenery, outdoor activities for both summer and winter, and, naturally, a high-end spa. She tried to summon Natalie’s enthusiasm for the future as she waited.
Julia held her breath as the Leer jet glided elegantly onto the runway, the same way a flock of geese landed on a summer lake. She tugged at the collar of her fitted dress and wished she’d worn something more appropriate for life in Smitten. Devlin would know it was last season’s dress, and there was no sense putting on airs when asking for money and his support. Reality required a certain humility. She needed to stay in Smitten for her parents’ sake, and Smitten needed to find a new industry for its future. Tourism seemed the logical choice.
The private jet unfolded from its side like a metal yawn and thrust down a set of stairs. Julia’s heart pounded at the sight of Devlin’s tall, intimidating frame. He’d come without an entourage, and for that she felt grateful.
Even her best friends didn’t understand the honor of socialite Devlin visiting their town, but the full weight of it pressed on Julia. She paced some more and practiced the breathing techniques Devlin had taught her for dealing with a particularly difficult client. Breathe in, hold for three seconds, exhale deeply, forcing out her lungs. To Smitten, Devlin was just another prospective businessman. To anyone in the spa business, he was a rock star. She watched him leave the plane.
Devlin Stovich’s awkward looks worked for him. His dirty blond locks curled around his strong jawline. There was almost a comical air to him, as if he were playing a 1950s Julius Caesar role, but his charm gave him that “it” factor that invited awe and commanded respect. He always wore silky black slacks with a black turtleneck, like a theater arts major. In the summer he switched out his turtleneck with a short-sleeved knit—also in black. Whenever he left the spa he threw a gray linen sport coat over his uniform, and what seemed a lack of creativity became fashion-forward. For as trendy as he appeared in Manhattan’s Upper East Side, he looked equally ridiculous in Smitten.
She’d lost sight of him, when suddenly large hands surrounded her waist and lifted her up from the floor, twirled her around full circle, and placed her back down in her original spot.
Devlin laughed heartily, “I will never get tired of that, lifting that lithe, tiny figure. Julia, you are the picture of heath.” He kissed her on both cheeks, as was his custom. “I think country life agrees with you. Look at your skin.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “It’s like pure spring water. I wish I could take credit for it, but in Manhattan we can only work with what we have, and we’ll never have this clear air.”
“You can take credit for my skin. I’m using all your products, and it doesn’t hurt that I learned from the best.”
“Always my best cheerleader. It’s so dreary in the spa without your perky personality.” He gripped both of her hands. “Come back to me.”
“Is that a marriage proposal?” she answered flirtatiously.
Devlin grinned. “I’m not the marrying kind, Julia, or I might say yes. I see far too many beautiful women in a day to stay true to one. But if I were going to stay true, you’d be my girl.”
“Such an offer. To bad I’m not a gambling woman.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I saw the size of this town from the air. An upscale spa here?” He shook his head and stared across the expansive but empty parking lot. “One of my estheticians will quit eventually. You can come back to New York then.”
She frowned. “I’ve made a commitment, Dev. Smitten needs me. Manhattan needs you. We have to face that what we have is unrequited love,” she joked in her best dramatic voice.
“I miss you, Julia. You always manage to see the beauty in everyone. That’s what I saw when I discovered you behind the makeup counter at Nordstrom’s. The way you had with people. You had that old woman on the stool, do you remember?”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“She was not an attractive woman, clearly a tourist from the heartland. She didn’t have a stitch of makeup on, and I think she was wearing sweatpants. You used eye makeup on her, and the blue of her eyes was suddenly obvious to me. I’ll never forget that. I saw her.”
Julia couldn’t help but feel sorry for Devlin and how much his prejudice kept him from seeing. “All your clients are beautiful. I don’t see what you thought I could add.”
“You saw potential in average people. It made me realize I might be missing clientele who would feel comfortable with you. You could take Quasimodo and find something about him that’s attractive. ”
She couldn’t find her voice. Quasimodo equated with a woman who didn’t dress in St. John knits and fill her face with Botox? She would never understand how Devlin saw the world—or she prayed she wouldn’t, anyway. She wanted to tell him that not noticing “normals” was pure narcissism on his part, and noticing them not any extraordinary ability at all. But that wouldn’t serve her purpose, so she kept her mouth shut.
Devlin walked outside the hangar and into the parking lot, where he shielded his eyes. “Like this place. I see the natural beauty. But Julia, what do you do here with your days in the middle of nowhere?”
“I take care of my mother. I hang out with friends. I make plans for the future of a history that’s in my blood. Life moves slower here, I’ll give you that. But it moves deeper as well.”
“If you say so.” Devlin placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the expanse of open space, his line of sight to the pine trees and mountaintops. “What makes you think there’s enough clientele here to support a spa?”
“W-well,” she stammered. “There’s not yet, but the town is changing, and our tourism is growing rapidly. Sawyer Smitten is getting married here, and that announcement alone has put us on the map. His fans will come, as if they’re on some kind of pilgrimage. Our bed-and-breakfast hasn’t had any vacancies since the announcement, our coffee shop has a steady business, and at night the town is lit up with sparkling lights. There are carriage rides, and in the spring there’ll be tours of the maple sugarhouses. All that’s missing for after a day on the lake or the slopes is a spa.”
He didn’t look convinced, so she kept talking.
“With Sawyer’s wedding, we are prepared to wipe the Poconos off the map as the East Coast romantic destination.”
“I’ve always appreciated your enthusiasm, Julia, but a spa needs steady clientele. It needs customers who value—” His critical gaze pulled away from the mountains and looked back at her as if he was ready to get back on the plane that moment.
“It’s more than my friends and me, this town project. Sawyer’s speaking out about his wedding and what his hometown means to him. This is a calling. There’s a little girl in our town, Mia, who prayed that—”
He held up his flat palm, as he always did when she said anything remotely faith based. Dev’s religion was beauty and eternal youth. He had no interest in anyone else’s belief system. “I believe in you, Julia, but there’s a long lead time and start-up capital that comes with the spa business. I’m sorry, I just didn’t see the potential here from the air. Maybe you can convince me once we get downtown. Smitten doesn’t happen to have a Ben & Jerry’s, does it?”
Devlin’s sweet tooth would keep him from getting directly back on the plane.
“We have a shop called Sweet Surrender that would give Serendipity a run for its money. I’ll take you there as soon as I’ve shown you the location possibilities. We also have Piece of Cake and the Vermont Creamery. Smitten is a sweet lover’s paradise.”
He didn’t look convinced, which only made Julia speak faster and her dress feel stickier.
“I know when you see the potential of our downtown, you’re going to be impressed. You have vision, Devlin, and that’s why I called you here . . . because I think this is an incredible opportunity.”
“Somehow I doubt that, but for you I’m willing to take a look.” He brought his lips near to the crook of her neck and whispered the rest. “For you, I’d do a lot of things. Just say the word.”
She forced a smile, but shivered involuntarily at the reminder of how uncomfortable Devlin could make her. She’d invited him, so she put on her game face and focused on his strengths. Devlin knew how to run a successful spa, and he had the money to invest. In fact, the amount she needed was less than his annual summer rental in the Hamptons. She suddenly wondered if she wasn’t selling the soul of Smitten for money.
“So who is this Sawyer person, and why should his wedding make any difference to this town’s tourism?”
Julia’s mouth dangled, but she snapped it shut when she realized he really didn’t know. “He’s a country singing sensation. Well, maybe not a sensation, but he’s on his way. ‘You Turned My Heart to Sawdust’? ‘Sugar, You’re Sweeter than Maple Syrup’?”
“Are you singing me a song? Or is this some strange mating call of Smitten folks?” He laughed. “I’m kidding. Tell me about this sensation I’ve never heard of.”
“He crossed over into pop after winning The Country’s Best on television. He’s had concerts in New York, too.” She felt protective over Sawyer’s image. He’d been the most popular boy in her high school when she was a freshman and he a senior. He wasn’t the cocky type at all, and though music was never “cool” in school, Sawyer possessed that star quality that would have made it cool if he played on the badminton team. “He won a talent show and became an international sensation!”
She felt an urge to tell Devlin how ignorant he could be about pop culture, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Dev wouldn’t serve Madonna at his spa because he found new money vulgar. He catered to the elite of Manhattan and made no secret of his disdain of the self-made man.
They’d been standing outside of her car for several minutes now, and at some point, she’d have to admit to owning the Subaru. She should have borrowed Shelby’s car for the occasion. Shelby’s classic styling may not have been practical when they were hiking outside of town, but her Lincoln would have proven infinitely more upscale and appropriate for Devlin’s appearance in town.
“We need four-wheel drive here,” she explained, rather than saying Yes, this is my beat-up Subaru, get in. “For the winters.”
“A four-wheel drive and everything. You’re a regular Sarah Palin.”
She knew he hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but she ignored that fact. Unlike Dev, she could camouflage herself in either place, the city or Smitten. There was something to be said for not carrying your location on your person.
“We’re not going to shoot our lunch, are we?” he quipped.
“Get in the car, Dev.”
Once inside the car, she turned the ignition, and Third Day blared from the stereo system. Considering the band also sang Sarah Palin’s theme song from her reality show, Julia thought it best just to shut off the music.
As they approached the town, her heart swelled with pride. Smitten’s Main Street belonged on a post card. Its brick Main Street and sidewalks ended at the old-fashioned, whitewashed church, where the traditional steeple and cross rose high into the bright blue sky. In the afternoon, the cross displayed its shadow across the village, as if Smitten’s church stood sentry over the town’s history and future.
“You say there’s skiing in the winter?”
“We have a lake. There’s water skiing in the summer as well, but yes, both downhill and cross-country in the winter. Mountain biking on the fire trails. It may not look like much yet, as far as the shopping and conveniences go, but the women of Smitten have our minds set. We come from a long line of tough stock, and I daresay nothing will stop us.”
“I hope for all your sakes you have enough capital to keep going until the town finds its footing.”
She pulled her car up alongside the coffee shop. “This is my girlfriend’s coffee shop. There’s open retail space alongside her there.” Julia pointed. “Natalie is very proactive and always searching out the latest coffee-roasting techniques. Anyone in Manhattan would be quite comfortable having a hot cocoa or an organic green tea in there. Don’t you think that would be a nice location for a spa?”
He shook his head. “Coffee fumes aren’t right for your location, and I can tell from here there’s not enough water available for a spa. It would cost you a fortune to get that place piped.”
“H-how can you tell that?”
“Easy. It’s what I do. And what if your friend burns the beans? Have you ever smelled that? It could ruin the day’s profits for you.”
She didn’t want to admit that she had.
“Aromatherapy is going to be a part of your business, so you have to take that into account. Drive up the road here, away from the church. I think off the beaten track would be better. Like the latest nightclub, it’s almost a well-known secret. I know you can take the ugly duckling and turn it into a swan, Julia, but you can’t pretty-up strong smells that don’t belong in a spa experience. What’s up this way?” He pointed to the end of the street.
“Natalie’s an excellent chef!” She didn’t want to mention some of Natalie’s infamous “tries” at the perfect, gluten-free cookie. “Maybe you’re right. Off the beaten track might be more relaxing.”
“Drive up here a little bit. The downtown is perfect, might be under ‘quaint’ if you looked it up in the dictionary. We want to make the most of that aspect. In Manhattan, you want to be right in the midst of things, but not here.”
“No?”
“No,” he answered firmly.
“I’m so excited you see the potential. It confirms what we’ve thought all along. Smitten’s an old logging town, you know. The idea of bringing anything feminine into this town is offensive to the men, but we know this is our future. We can’t cut down trees any longer, so we’ve got to create a green economy out of the beauty here.”
“Stop!” Dev said as they reached the end of Main Street. “What’s that building?”
He pointed to a rustic, log cabin-looking building that defied the rest of Smitten’s idyllic downtown, like a permanent stain on its cuteness.
“That? That’s the Smitten Grill.” She said it as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. “It closed a little while after the mill, but he opens it during ski season generally.” One side of her lip lifted. “If you think upscale clientele would despise the scent of brewed coffee, imagine what they’d think here with scorched meat.” She let out a nervous laugh and hoped he’d join her, but he was still mesmerized by the restaurant.
He put his hands in the shape of a picture frame. “No, this is it, Julia! I can see it here. There’s so much potential. You realize that you can’t copy a Manhattan spa and plop it here in the country.”
“Naturally,” she said. “No plopping.”
“You have to know what would work here in Smallville. All this enchanting nostalgia is money in the bank if you know how to take proper advantage. Pull over.”
She steered the car to the curb. Devlin didn’t wait until the car was at a full stop before he leapt out and walked along the boardwalk sidewalk under the shingled overhang.
Can we go now?
“That’s another thing,” she yelled out the window. “Everywhere else in town has brick sidewalks. Those old planks probably have dry rot, and you’d be looking at a lot of extra costs on the building.”
“Nonsense.” He jumped on the wide wooden planks. “They’re in perfect condition.”
Dev’s sleek black image looked wrong against the rustic wooden lodge. As though Matt Damon strode into a Yosemite Sam cartoon. She shuddered as she stepped out of the car.
“The Smitten Grill isn’t exactly a place the women in town frequent.” The dark-stained wood exterior made it the town’s eyesore and something the girls and she hoped to eliminate with enough time. It was nowhere to be seen on their future maps.
“All the better to bring in some masculine energy into the mix. Couples business is going to be tantamount in a tourist town. You do realize that?”
“We have an appointment up the street in ten minutes.” She turned her wrist toward Devlin.
“We’ll be there. Let me just see inside here. Humor me, if you will.”
“If we hurry, maybe we’ll have time.”
Devlin pressed down on the spring button, and to her dismay the unlocked door sprang open. “After you.”
She stepped gingerly onto the cracked cement floor covered by sawdust, which crept inside her peep-toe heels. Like a cat on a hot sidewalk, she lifted her feet gingerly, anxious to get the tour over with as soon as possible. She searched the room with wide eyes. Stuffed animal heads stared at her from the walls, burned-out neon signs surrounded them, and primitive wooden stools set at burl-wood tables dotted the room. “Well, you’ve seen it. Not exactly a place Smitten is proud of, and you can see why.”
“If it’s closed, I can’t imagine the owner wouldn’t want to rent it out. Make some money.” Devlin walked toward the bank of dirty windows. “Is that a pond in the back?” He fluffed a gray handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the window.
“Whitetail Pond. Named for the deer that came to drink there before the sludge from this place probably poisoned the water.”
“Julia.” Dev pushed off from the windowsill and stared at her with his intense blue-green eyes. Eyes that had broken lesser women’s resolve. “I think you’re totally missing the vision, and that’s not like you. You take ugly things and make them beautiful. That pond alone is sheer, feng shui perfection. Imagine a rock waterfall just over there.” He pointed to the corner, then turned on his heels. “Or a fireplace back there where clients wait or relax after their treatments in their white, fuzzy robes. The gentle, soothing sound of trickling, clear water, the warming scent of maple syrup. Soothing couples’ massages out on the deck in the summer. Think like one of my students. Think outside the box and you’ll see there’s no other place in town for this spa than right here. I don’t understand how you’re missing this.”
“Outside the box? I can’t think at all in here. All I want to do is grab myself some bleach and grease-cutter. Do you mind if we get on to the next building? I had an appointment.”
“Julia, forget the appointment. Work with me here. You’ve got all the elements built in.” He took her by the hand and walked around the expansive room. “Wood . . . water . . . fire would be easy enough to put in . . . metal . . .”
Devlin went on in his Eastern meditation trance, and she questioned his involvement for the first time. She could handle his flirtatious passes, but not actually meddling with the location or “feel” of the spa. Maybe she had been in New York too long. She certainly knew Devlin’s belief system to be different from hers, but for the first time, she questioned if she’d truly relied on faith for Smitten’s future rather than Devlin’s money. She slipped off a heel and emptied it of sawdust.
“Can we talk about this after we’ve seen the other building? I told Ms. Draper we were coming. She owns the sweet shop and keeps the key.”
She didn’t want to mention that the people of Smitten didn’t bow out of appointments. It simply wasn’t done.
Besides, she wanted to get out of there before— “Zak!”
She felt the blood drain from her face at the imposing sight of Zak Grant. He hadn’t changed at all, and she willed herself to lose the swirl in her stomach that made her feel like a prepubescent girl at a Justin Bieber concert.
Zak Grant, with his sleepy-eyed gaze and stretched, taut T-shirt. She searched for an excuse as to why she’d entered his antlered, Medieval lair. He raked his hand through his thick, boyish curls, and she noted that being out of business had apparently left Zak plenty of time to build up his muscles. He was built like a Vermont maple: tall, filled-out, and sturdy. She felt sawdust invade her shoe again and twitched her leg trying to get it out.
“Julia,” Dev’s smooth voice chastised. “You look like a dog being tickled on its belly.” He chuckled.
She glanced at Zak, who bit his bottom lip. “Do you own a broom, Zak?”
“I do. You looking for a job? I was just thinking I should hire someone.”
“You two know each other, I assume,” Devlin said, eyeing what he must have seen as competition. The truth was, any normal fifty-year old man would know he was no match for the athletic perfection that was Zak Grant, but Devlin’s delusional view of himself trumped his reality.
“This is Smitten. Everyone knows each other,” she said. “I’m sure Zak has lots of work to do. We’d best get out of his way.” She grasped at Devlin’s elbow. “Zak, this is my former boss from New York, Devlin Stovich. Devlin, my brother’s best friend, Zak Grant.”
The two men shook hands.
“Julia’s going to open a spa here in town.” Devlin’s eyes thinned.
“So I heard,” Zak said. He rubbed his three days’ worth of stubble. “What kind of treatment would you give me?” He bent toward her and rubbed his jaw. “Do I have sun damage?”
“Can we get out of here now?” she asked Devlin. “There’s no texture here. Wood on wood. Oh, and while you’re at it, add some wood.”
“That’s part of the beauty of it. You could so easily add the other elements. This pond, it’s positively picturesque. Manmade?”
“God-made,” Zak clarified.
“I can see the brochures now. From across the pond, we see the massage tables on the deck in the distance. Can’t you see it, Julia?”
“No.” She crossed her arms in front of her.
“A few orchids in the background, some rock water features . . .”
“Sounds like you have big plans. That right, Julia?” Zak, with his barrel chest and dark, earthy green-brown eyes stared at her with his meaty hand wrapped around some blueprints. His muscles bulged out of his dark gray T-shirt, and she wondered if he had added to his wardrobe at all since high school.
She thought all those nasty things rather than remember his stinging rejection as one of the popular boys in school to her quiet, pensive geek. She used to spy on him when he’d play basketball in the backyard with her brother, but he’d never noticed her. Just like that woman in Nordstrom, she’d been invisible to Zak.
“Looks like you’ve plans of your own.” She nodded at the blueprints in his hand. “Sorry to have bothered you.” She hooked her arm into Devlin’s.
“Are you renting the place out?” Dev asked Zak.
“Only half of it. I’m using the other half for my office. I live upstairs.”
“Unemployed body builders need an office?” Julia regretted her words immediately, but she couldn’t take them back.
Both Zak and Devlin gazed at her as if she were the devil himself.
“Still as charming as ever, huh, Julia?”
“What do you plan to rent the place for?” Dev asked him.
“More than she can afford.” His steely gaze rested on her in a silent challenge.
“I’m considering investing in her business,” Dev said, handing Zak a business card from a jacket pocket. “But only if she’s smart about it.”
“It’s more than either of you can afford.”
“I doubt that. I take it you two don’t care for one another,” Devlin said. “But you seem to be a businessman, Mr. Grant, and I’d consider it a great favor if you’d reconsider Julia as a tenant. I wholeheartedly and enthusiastically believe in her abilities as an esthetician.”
“An esta– what?”
“Julia, look here. These cabinets are already built in. I’m seeing earthy-browns under soothing candlelight, cedar and sandlewood as signature scents. Or perhaps maple, if you want to go for that local flair. Muscle repair massages after skiing, with mountain arnica extracts and oregano . . . surely even you can see the need for that, Mr. Grant.”
“Nope. Oregano goes on food, not me. If Julia wants to make me spaghetti sauce with it, we can talk.”
Zak’s refusal seemed to ignite Devlin’s competitive nature. “Mr. Grant, wouldn’t you like to see the women of Smitten looking younger with anti-aging facials after a day in the sun? It repairs the collagen with licorice extract.”
“What? Food on people instead of in people isn’t right for Smitten. We don’t go for all that frou-frou stuff you city people like.”
“Detox? Surely a body builder knows about detox. Julia could do the best detoxifying treatments there under the crackling fireplace.” He pointed toward the corner.
“There is no fireplace,” Julia said dryly.
“There will be. An exfoliation treatment with the local maple sugar scrub. Julia, Zak, this is a gold mine. What’s it going to take to get you two to see it?”
“A miracle,” they said in unison.
“I need to get back to work.” Zak tapped his blueprints against the wall. “Let yourselves out when you’re done.”
Julia watched him stride to the back room, untouchable as ever.

SMITTEN: FIRST CHAPTER

2011-12-20T08:44:00.002-05:00

We're so excited that today is Smitten's official release date! But I have to share some even more spectacular news! Di's CA-125 was 39 yesterday! 4 pts above normal!! Thank you for your prayers, friends. Keep them up. We're so grateful for you and your love and prayers for Di. When Di texted me, I started crying and burst into tears every few minutes all afternoon. So thankful to God for his touch on her life! Love you all.

Chapter One

Natalie Mansfield’s heart swelled as she stood on the perimeter of the town square and watched her niece and the other children decorate the town for Easter. A gigantic smile stretched across five-year-old Mia’s face as her Sunday school teacher lifted her to place the lavender wreath at the top of the clock.

Mia saw her and waved. “Aunt Nat, look at me!”

Natalie waved back, her smile broadening. “She’s growing so fast,” she told her aunt Rose Garner. “I love her so much.”

Black threaded Rose’s silver hair, and her smooth skin made her look twenty years younger than her sixty-two years. “I still remember the first day I laid eyes on you.”

“How could you forget? I was a morose ten-year-old who snapped your head off every time you spoke to me.”

Her aunt pressed her hand. “You changed our lives, honey. We were three lonely spinsters until you showed up. Now here you are providing a home for your niece. A full circle, just like that wreath. I’m so proud of you.”

Her aunt’s words made Natalie’s heart fill to bursting. “You gave me the only stability I’d ever known. I want to do the same for Mia.”

Aunt Rose wasn’t listening. A small frown creased her brow. “Something’s wrong.”

Natalie looked at the men standing a few feet away in front of the hardware store. Their heads were down and their shoulders slumped. The dejection in their stances sent her pulse racing.

She recognized one of her coffee shop patrons, Murphy Clinton, and grabbed his arm as he walked past. “What’s happened, Murphy?” she asked.

He stopped and stared down at her with a grave expression. “The mill’s closing.”

“That’s not possible,” she mumbled. Her thoughts raced. The mill was an institution and the main employer in Smitten. If it closed . . .

He finished her thought. “This town is finished.”

* * *

The aroma of the freshly brewed coffee overpowered the less appetizing smell from the drum roaster in the back room. Natalie let her employee Zoe handle the customers at the bar and took the hot beverages to the seating area by the window where she and her friends could see white-topped Sugarcreek Mountain. Spring had come to their part of Vermont, and the sight of the wildflowers on the lower slopes would give her strength.

“So what are we going to do?” she asked, sinking onto the overstuffed leather sofa beside Reese Mackenzie.

“Do? What can we do?” Reese asked. Her blond ponytail gleamed in the shaft of sunlight through the window. She was the practical one in the group. Reese was never afraid of hard work, but while Natalie saw only the end goal, Reese saw the pitfalls right on the path. “We can’t make them keep the mill open.”

While rumors about the mill had been floating for months, no one had really believed it would fold. The ramifications would be enormous. Natalie’s business had been struggling enough without this added blow.

She took a sip of her mocha java. A little bitter. She’d have to tweak the roast a bit next time. “If the mill closes, the town will dry up and blow away. We can’t let that happen.” If Mountain Perks closed, she didn’t know how she would provide for Mia.

And she wasn’t leaving Smitten. Not ever. After being yanked from pillar to post with an alcoholic mother until she was ten, Natalie craved the stability she had found here with her aunts and her friends.

Julia Bourne tossed her long hair away from her face to reveal flawless skin that never needed makeup. “This is one of those things outside your control, Nat. I’d guess we’d all better be looking for jobs in Stowe.”

Shelby Evans took a sip of her tea and shivered. Her Shih-poo, Penelope, dressed in a fashionable blue-and-white polka dotted shirt, turned around in Shelby’s lap and lay down on her navy slacks. “I don’t know about you all,” Shelby said, “but I wanted my kids to grow up here.”

The women had no children of their own—and none of them was even close to thinking about settling down—but that was a moot point for Shelby. She had a storybook ending in mind that included a loving husband and two-point-five children for each of them. Natalie was sure her friend would find that life too.

Natalie moved restlessly. “There has to be something we can do. Some new export. Maple syrup, maybe? We have lots of trees.” She glanced at Julia. “What about your New York friends? Maybe you could ask some of your business friends for advice?”

Julia shrugged her slim shoulders. “They know spas. I hardly think a spa is going to save us.”

Reese had those thoughtful lines on her forehead. A tiny smile hovered on her full lips, and her hazel eyes showed a plan was forming. “We don’t have time for exports, but what about imports? Tourists would love us if they’d come visit. We have heart.” She took out her ever-present notebook and pen and began to jot down ideas.

“They come to ski in Stowe anyway,” Shelby said. “All we have to do is get them here.”

Natalie rubbed her forehead where it had begun to ache. “But what do we have to offer that’s different from any other town?”

Julia crossed her shapely ankles. “Smitten is cute with its church and all, but cute doesn’t bring tourists. I can’t even get a decent manicure in this dinky town. People aren’t going to pay for ambiance. We need some kind of gimmick.”

Reese tapped her pen against her chin. “I have an idea,” she said. “Everyone jokes about the town name. Why not capitalize on it?”

“How do you capitalize on a name like Smitten?”

“What does Smitten make you think of?” Reese asked. “Love, right? What if we turn the town into a place for honeymooners?”

Shelby adjusted the bow on Penelope’s head. “I went to Santa Claus, Indiana once. Tons of people, even in July.”

Natalie swallowed a groan. They’d all heard about Santa Claus too many times to count. She needed to derail Shelby before she broke into a rendition of “Jingle Bells.” “We could have love songs playing as people strolled the streets.”

Julia snickered and nodded toward the man striding past outside the window. “I have a feeling Carson would have something to say about that. He hated all the jokes about his name in high school.”

Natalie followed the angle of Julia’s nod. Her gut clenched the way it always did when she saw Carson Smitten. He was a man who attracted female attention wherever he went. He looked like his lumberjack great-grandfather, with his broad shoulders and closely- cropped dark hair.

He had all the single women in town drooling after him. Except for her, of course. If the other girls knew what she knew about him, they wouldn’t think he was so great.

“I’m still thinking about my idea,” Reese said. “This will mean new businesses, new jobs, lots of revenue pouring in. We’d have to get the entire town on board.”

Natalie’s excitement level went up a notch as she imagined the town transformed with its new mission. “The town meeting is coming up. I can present the idea there.”

“It’s a good thing you’re a selectperson,” Shelby said. “People listen to you.”

Natalie dug a paper and pen from her purse, a Brighton that Julia had given her for her last birthday. “There needs to be a cohesive plan. What would this love town look like? Besides romantic songs playing over speakers around town.” She peered at Reese’s list and copied down the items.

Shelby retied Penelope’s bow. “We need a lingerie shop that sells perfume,” she said. “Chocolates. Some plush hotels and bed-and-breakfasts with tubs for two.” Her smile grew larger. “Maybe old-fashioned lampposts along the path around the lake. You could put outside tables on the street and white lights in the trees. Flower boxes all around town.”

“And we’ll need more restaurants,” Julia added.

Natalie eyed her. “You said a good manicure was impossible to find. What if you started a spa?”

Julia’s perfectly plucked brows lifted. She grabbed the tablet and pen from Natalie. “I don’t know. I’d like to move back to New York eventually.”

“The honeymooners won’t spend all their time in their rooms,” Reese said, her eyes gleaming. “We offer great outdoor activities. The skiing here is as good as anywhere in the country. People just don’t know about us.” She gestured toward the mountain. “And look at that view.”

Natalie groaned. “The last thing I’d want to do on my honeymoon is go skiing. I’d rather sit holding hands across a linen tablecloth with a lobster in front of me.”

“But I’d go skiing in a heartbeat,” Reese said. “Our big draw is our outdoor beauty. We don’t have an outfitters shop. We’d need that.” She jotted it down on her paper. “You know how I’ve been saving for a shop like that for years. Maybe now is the time.”

“Now is the time,” Natalie said. “Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. We’re going to push you until you do it.”

“I love it!” Shelby stood and paced by the window. “Maybe my etiquette school can be part of it too. I can coach women on how to put on the best parties and cater to the society women who come to town. Maybe teach ballroom dancing.”

“And your designs,” Natalie said, unable to keep her voice from rising. “Those cute outfits you make for Penelope would sell like hot cakes.” She glanced at the picture on the wall of herself with Mia. “I have to do what I can to save the town. I want Mia to have the security I’ve never had. A-And I’ve been thinking. I want to be Mia’s real mother. I’m going to see about adopting her.”

Her announcement left her friends with mouths gaping. She glanced at Shelby, whose soft heart she knew would be the first to agree with her.

Shelby’s dark eyes glistened. “Oh, Nat, that’s just like you! You have so much love to give. Mia’s a very lucky girl.”

A lump formed in Natalie’s throat. “Starting the adoption is going to be my birthday present to myself. Every day I wake up and wonder if Lisa is going to take her away from me someday. I can’t live with that fear.”

Julia grimaced. “Lisa is never going to own up to her responsibilities, but I’m glad you’re going to make sure Mia is safe.”

“I’ll be praying for you,” Reese said softly. “There will be lots of frustrating paperwork. Let me help you with that.” She flipped the page on her notebook. “And it’s all the more reason for us to get this idea sold to the residents. You don’t want Mountain Perks to go under.”

This was not going to be an easy sell to Carson Smitten. Natalie stared out the window again and watched the man yank on the door to his hardware store in his usual confident way. She had no doubt she could convince the rest of the town over his objections. After all, what did they have to lose?

* * *

Smitten Town Hall was packed. Carson Smitten scanned the rows of people. Folks were talking excitedly, mostly about the mill news that had been announced two days ago. There looked to be a lot of interest today on the things listed in the warning that had been published thirty days earlier. Once the moderator had been selected and brought down the gavel, the participants recited the Pledge of Allegiance and began to go through the list of items on the warning. Things went smoothly with no surprises until Natalie Mansfield took the mic.

Dressed in jeans and a red sweater that showed her curves to advantage, she stepped forward on the stage. “We’ve all been reeling with the news that the mill is closing,” she began. “I have a proposal to bring to the town. A way to bring major tourism to Smitten.”

A wave of murmurs rose, and people leaned forward. Burly George Metcalf called out, “If you can save my plumbing business, I’ll eat dirt.”

She smiled. “It won’t take that, George. But make no mistake—it’s a major change.”

Carson narrowed his gaze on Natalie. He liked looking at her. He’d always been drawn to her dark-haired beauty, but she’d been distant with him ever since that fiasco with her sister, Lisa.

Natalie moved to the podium, and the screen behind her illuminated. The picture that came up showed Smitten, but a very different one from the rough lumber town that now existed. Was that a skating rink? Carson studied the screen, intrigued by the picture-perfect town.

“We’ve all heard the jokes about our name, but it could be the thing that saves us.” She turned to look up at the screen. “We can cater to lovers, honeymooners, those celebrating their anniversaries. We’ll have love songs playing in the streets, encourage more businesses that cater to couples.”

Carson shot to his feet to object, but before he could voice his opposition, others got in ahead of him. The town meeting buzzed with excitement as voters threw out ideas on how to make this idea credible. Terms he’d never associated with his town were bandied about. Terms like spa, candle shop, lingerie shop of all things. It was insane.

He finally got the mic. “We don’t need a new marketing plan. We need a new industry.” He glared at Natalie, who leveled a stare back from calm brown eyes. She’d done this on purpose just to rile him. He knew it.

“But don’t you see—this is a new industry. It’s tourism, one of the best kind. Instead of the mill ruling our lives, we’ll be in charge.”

“It’s a good idea,” Harold Warren shouted from the back of the room. “We can sell our town. I’ve lived my whole life here, and I don’t want to leave.”

“Me neither,” a woman’s voice chimed in. “We’ll need a publicist. I can help with that.”

Someone else volunteered to be on a task force. In spite of Carson’s resistance, the proposal went to a vote and passed. All around him he heard people laying plans for how they could contribute to the idea. He couldn’t believe it. Grabbing his jacket, he stormed from the building. Out in the town square he sank onto a park bench and rubbed his forehead. How could they jump on such a crazy idea so quickly? Love capital. Good grief. They’d be the laughingstock of Vermont.

A female voice spoke behind him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looked around to see Natalie standing behind the bench with her navy peacoat in her hand. She was the last person he wanted to talk to. “I think you’ve said it all,” he said.

She ignored his comment and joined him on the bench. A light scent, something flowery, wafted from her hair. He nearly rose and walked away, but courtesy demanded he at least hear her out.

“It’s clear you hate the idea,” she said.

“You’re getting people excited about an idea that won’t work. We’re not a touristy town. We’re blue collar workers. We need another plant, maybe a furniture manufacturer. Something we can sell.”

“Think about it, Carson. This is totally unique. People will eat it up. What else do we have going for us?” Her voice held excitement.

He struggled to ignore her enthusiasm. She’d always been persuasive. “Recreational stuff like skiing, hunting and fishing. We can work on that.” He glanced at her. Big mistake.

She leaned toward him on the bench. “We’ve worked on that for years. It’s no secret your fishing cabins are only half full most of the year. And you’re practically running your hardware store by yourself.”

He winced. “We can brainstorm ways to do a better job.”

“We’ve tried that. There’s too much competition, even here in Vermont. But no one else is doing this. No one else can do it. We have the name and the great setting. All we need is to work together.”

“It’s my town, Natalie. My great-grandfather built Smitten. I’m not going to stand back and watch you make a joke of it.”

She nodded toward the hall. “The meeting is breaking up, and I have another appointment. Come to the coffee shop in the morning. I have some ideas to discuss with you. Please.”

“No, Natalie, you’re wrong about it. All of it.” Just as she was wrong about him and her sister.

Her hand touched his. “Come on, Carson, I’m not going to bite. What do you have to lose?” She bit her lip. “I know Mia is an issue between us.”

“She’s only an issue because it’s clear you believe your sister’s lies,” he shot back. “And what makes you think you know what’s best for this town?”

Her dark eyes studied him. “Just because you’re a Smitten doesn’t mean you’re the only one who cares about this place. Can’t you put our differences aside and work with me for the good of the town?”

Good of the town? When she put it like that, it made it sound like he was being petty. Which he wasn’t. She just didn’t know what was good for the town. This was his town, passed down from the original Carson Smitten in the 1700s. If he had a prayer of saving Smitten, he had to derail this crazy plan.

“No thanks,” he said.

Her dark eyes widened, then thick lashes shuttered the disappointment in them. She’d thought he’d agree, had she? She’d clearly thought she could convince him.

Sneak Peak at "Smitten"!

2011-12-18T20:47:00.003-05:00

In celebration of SMITTEN's official release date (tomorrow!), we're posting the first chapters to our stories. Hope you enjoy the sneak peak!

"All Along" By Denise Hunter

ChapterOne

ReeseMackenzie swept her hand over the old wall as if she could perceive the secretsbeneath it. Regardless of what the ugly wallpaper hid, in two months she’d beliving her dream.

“Youshould definitely take the walls down,” Griffen Parker said. He closed thespace between them and knocked on the drywall. “Bet there’s brick under there.”

Reesemet his clear blue eyes. A dark lock of hair fell over his forehead and battledwith his eyelashes.

“I’dplanned on painting. You never know what’s behind these old walls. The only wayto find out is to knock them down, and once you do that, there’s no turningback.”

“Can’tbe worse than this,” he said, running his hand over the Pepto-Bismol wallpaper.“Besides, it’ll take forever to remove this stuff.”

Hewas right about that, but she hated changing boats midstream. “I’ll think aboutit.”

Shecouldn’t believe the Palmer Building was all hers now. Well, hers and thebank’s. There was so much work to do, and so many unknowns. She’d been planningthis forever, but that didn’t stop the worry from jangling on her nerves.

Reesecrossed the open space, her Merrell boots barely making a sound on the woodenplanks. “You don’t see a problem structurally with opening up the second floor?”

Hepocketed his hands in his vest coat. “Nope. The bones are solid.”

Reeseglanced around the space, her imagination kicking in. “I want lots of cubbiesand shelving.”

“Ofcourse you do.”

“Aplace for everything.”

“Iexpected no less.”

Itwas going to take a lot of time. She hoped it wouldn’t put Griffen in a bindwith his other clients. She knew he’d do anything for her, but she’d never takeadvantage of their friendship.

Shestudied his face. He’d changed since he left Smitten three years earlier. Hishair was longer, dangling over his forehead and curling up on the ends. And healways seemed to be sporting a five o’clock shadow. Probably didn’t have timeto shave, with all his projects.

“Yousure you have time for all this—you’d tell me if you didn’t, right?”

Hecocked a grin. “Always have time for my favorite girl. I’ll finish the town’sgazebo tomorrow, and I figured this project would be my last. I’m all yours forthe next two months.”

“Onlyif you’re absolutely, positively sure . . .”

“Youwant it in blood?”

Sheshot him a look, then returned to her perusal of her very own building. “Thatwould leave me a week to arrange the merchandise before the wedding. I’ll beready in plenty of time to assist the wedding guests with all theirrecreational needs.”

She’dalready ordered everything from ski poles to canoes. Opened boxes filled herspare rooms, and a variety of boats and bikes had usurped her car’s spot in thegarage. Each shipment filled her with excitement . . . and worry. What if thiswhole plan was one massive failure? Please,God. You know we’re trying to step out on faith here, right?

“Obviously,you’ll need new plumbing. And the heating system is archaic.”

“Justwrite it up and give me a ballpark figure.” She nailed him with a look. “And befair. I’m not a charity case.”

Hetipped a grin her way. “Speaking of ballpark, I’ve been home for almost eight months,and you haven’t even been over to shoot hoops yet. What’s up with that? Whatd’ya say—have time for some one-on-one?” He put up an invisible shot. “My placecame with a court, you know.”

Hewas renting the old Halverson place, which had been on the market since themill closed.

“Incase you haven’t noticed, it’s winter. Besides, I’m having coffee with thegirls in a hour, and I was going to browse a new sporting goods catalog.”

“Newplan.” He nudged her. “Come on, it’s almost forty, and the ground’s clear. Wehave almost an hour of daylight, and you’ve been stuck behind a desk all day.”

“Notany more,” she fairly sang. Today had been her last day as the receptionist forSmitten Accounting. Her colleagues had ordered some chocolate heaven from Pieceof Cake to celebrate her new start.

Hepulled her toward the door. “You can catch me up on the scuttlebutt on theway.”

Sheflipped off the lights on her way out and pulled the old door with its wavypaneled glass. The wreath bounced against the door as it hit the jamb.

“Here’sthe scuttlebutt,” she said, donning her Thinsulate gloves. “Natalie’spractically engaged, Julia’s planning her wedding, Shelby and Nick are glued atthe hip, and I’ve become the resident town spinster.”

Griffenchuckled and ruffled her hair. “Aw, poor little Reese Cup. Feeling left out ofthe lovers’ loop?”

Shetook her knit cap from her pocket and pulled it on, sighing. “Nah, I’m happyfor them.”

Reesewould’ve been the first married if things had been different. Her whole lifewould be different if she and Sawyer had worked out. Reese Smitten. So it didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Didn’tmatter now anyway. He was set to marry a Hollywood beauty and save the town ofSmitten in one fell swoop.

Theycrossed the brick street, dodging the diagonally parked cars in front ofSmitten Hardware. The town was decked out for Christmas. Garlands spiraled upstreet lamps and swagged across storefronts. Window boxes of poinsettias deckedthe buildings, and sparkling new ornaments dangled from the newly planted pinetrees in the town square.

Thiswould all be gone by Sawyer’s wedding. The multicolored lights would bereplaced with twinkling white ones, and the poinsettias would be traded in forartificial sprays of white peonies or something. What would it be like, seeingSawyer again, with someone else? Marrying someone else?

“Whateverhappened with you and Sawyer after I left? You never said.”

“Howdo you do that?”

“What?”

“Readmy mind.”

Heshrugged and turned a crooked grin on her, exhaling a puff of fog between them.His nose was already pink.

Aheadof them, a couple turned into Natalie’s shop. Reese and Griffen continued to thecorner and turned up Maple, heading toward his place. She hadn’t forgotten hisquestion, and he knew her well enough to know she’d get back to it eventually.

She and Sawyer . . . it seemedlike a lifetime ago.

Sheshrugged, picking up their conversation. “Once he won The Country’s Best, everything changed, you know? He was offered arecording contract. He could hardly turn it down.” Realizing she was stillmaking excuses for him, she sighed. It didn’t help that his new fiancée, withher blond hair and greenish eyes, looked a lot like his old one. Well. Theshorter, less glamorous version.

“Andyou couldn’t leave your mom.”

“Iwas all she had.” The Parkinson’s had already taken her mom’s mobility by then.It had been the hardest thing she’d ever experienced, watching her mom wasteaway.

“I’msorry I wasn’t here when she passed. You don’t know how much I regret that.”

“It’sokay. I had the girls. I was just worried when I couldn’t reach you.”

Griffenhad been on a Habitat for Humanity project somewhere in Mexico, and she hadn’tlocated him until after the funeral.

“I’msorry.” He looked miserable.

“Bygones,”she said, their favorite word from their high school days.

Thatearned her a smile.

Theyturned up his gravel lane and walked toward the two-story structure he’drented.

“Thatthing’s big enough for a family of ten.”

“Itwas available—and cheap. Besides, I always liked the old place. Who knows,

maybe I’ll buy it someday.”

“Youplanning on ten kids?”

“Maybe.”

“Mightwant to start with a wife.”

“Iplan on it.” He tossed her grin, and Reese felt a jolt at the thought ofGriffen with a wife. She’d been his for so long—okay, not his, but still. A wife wouldn’t appreciate another woman in his life,even if they were just best buddies.

Sherecalled the day last fall when she’d noticed him across the grocery store parkinglot. The attraction she’d felt before she’d recognized him, the comment she’dmade to Shelby. Even now, her face went ten degrees hotter. She glanced atGriffen, hoping he’d attribute the flush of her cheeks to the cold.

Heslipped inside the detached garage and flipped a switch. The light by the doorflickered on with a buzz. She set down her purse and checked out the court, aconcrete slab with a wooden pole and a backboard that had seen better days. Atleast the net was still there.

Griffenexited the building, dribbling the basketball toward the court. “Gotta warnyou. I’ve been practicing.”

Reesepulled off her gloves and rubbed her hands together. She bent her knees in adefensive position as he approached. “I’m so scared.”

“Youshould be.” He darted around her, but she blocked his path, waving her arms.

“You’restill fast.”

“Maybe a spinster, but I’m an active—”

Hesidestepped and made an easy layup. Swish.

Hejumped around her and grabbed the ball, swaggering back. “Like I said. Should Itake it down a notch for you?”

Hethrew the ball, and she caught it at her chest, leveling him with a look as shedribbled the ball out. “You’re gonna be the one begging for mercy, pal.”

“Bringit on, sister.”

Thirtyminutes later their coats were discarded in a heap, they were fogging up thecourt, and they were tied at sixteen. What Reese lacked in size, she made upfor in accuracy and speed.

Sheput a guard on Griffen all the way to the basket. He put up a shot that bankedoff the board and bounced on the rim before going in.

“’Bout time,” she said. He’d missed his last three.

Hegave her ponytail a tug. “Still up by one, Reese Cup.”

Shedribbled the ball out then back toward him. “Not for long.”

Hecrouched as she approached, his eyes on hers. She was going to dart around himand go in for an easy layup.

Heswatted at the ball, and she dribbled it through her legs, catching it with herother hand.

“Nicemove.”

Heswatted again, this time getting the prize.

Shegrowled as he checked the ball out, then got between him and the basket beforehe could move in for an easy layup. She had to force the jump shot, hisweakness. She pressed in, squeezing. He couldn’t get around her, she was toofast. Smallness had its advantages.

Hefaked left, but she was there. He faked right. She chuckled. He spun and dartedforward. She was fast, right there in front of him, but he didn’t anticipatethat.

Hisbody plunged into hers as he went in for the layup. She was falling backward.He caught her around the waist, pulling her toward him. His feet tangled withhers. She grabbed onto his shirt.

Butit was too late. They were both going down.

Reesehit the ground hard. Griffen landed on her, and her breath left in one suddenexpulsion. “Umph.”

Shefelt the fall a full second later.

“Reese!”Griffen slid off to the side.

Thesky overhead was darkening. The skeletal branch of an oak tree jutted acrossthe blue canvas.

“Areyou okay?” Griffen asked. “Reese?”

“Giveme a minute.” At least she hadn’t hit her head. Had she? Her backside killed.Her shoulder blade hurt. Nothing too bad, she didn’t think.

Assessingher injuries, she became aware of Griffen’s body, still pressed against herside. A strange sensation moved through her limbs, winging its way to herstomach where a ribbon of warmth unfurled. Her heart thudded heavily in herchest.

Whatthe—

“Reese,talk to me. Did you hit your head?” He propped his weight on his elbow andbrushed a loose strand of hair from her face.

Thesensation sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized with dismay that shewanted him to touch her again.

“I’mfine,” she croaked.

So.Not. Fine. She met his eyes, dazed, confused, but not by the fall.

Hisbrows furrowed. “What hurts?”

Sheclosed her eyes before he could read what was there. Better he think her hurtthan crazy. And it was crazy. This was Griffen, for pity’s sake.

Heturned her face toward him. “Reese.”

Shebrushed his hand away. “Quit. I’m fine.” She needed to leave, needed to ice herhead whether she’d hit it or not.

“Maybeyou should lie—”

“Isaid I’m fine!” She pushed at him, and he rolled away, standing.

Heheld out his hand, but she ignored it. No more touching. Not until she checkedinto the psych ward. Man, she was such a freak. This was Griffen. Sherose gingerly to her feet, brushed the gravel bits from her palms.

“I’msorry, Reese. Did you hit your head? Come inside, we’ll ice it.”

Shechecked her watch. “I have to go.”

Hetook her elbow. “You’re hurt.”

Shepulled away, glaring.

Hebacked off, his eyes widening. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been soaggressive.”

Shesighed and waved him off, then went to gather her coat and purse. Twilight hadclosed in and a cacophony of night sounds had begun. Or maybe that was in herhead.

“Reese. . . ” She heard the worry in his voice and some part of her reacted to that.

Sheturned, walking backwards. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” Now that she was puttingspace between them. She held out her arms, exhibit A. “See?”

Thefurrowed brow remained.

Reeseoffered what she hoped was a normal smile. “See you Monday.”

* **

Griffenwatched Reese walk away until she faded into the darkness of Maple Street. Hepicked up the basketball and slammed it into the cement, stopping the ball whenit rebounded.

Idiot!Why’d he have to take the stupid game so seriously? He never should’ve chargedinto her like that. Now she was mad and probably hurt too.

Hewalked to the garage, tossed the ball inside, and flipped off the light.Darkness followed him as he retrieved his coat and entered his house throughthe side entrance. He closed the door and leaned against it. His heart wasstill racing, whether from the game, the fall, or what came after, who knew?

Hismind zipped through the conversations they’d had earlier. The renovationproject, her spinster comment . . . He wondered again if she still had feelingsfor Sawyer. His attempt to draw her out had been pointless. She’d changed thesubject pretty quick.

Hehoped Reese wasn’t hurt. She was a tough girl, always had been. He’d seen herplay through a sprained wrist and even the flu once when the regionalchampionship was at stake.

Whatif she’d hit her head? She’d had a dazed look in her eyes as she’d stared backat him. Great. She might have a concussion, and he’d just let her walk back totown alone.

Hebanged his head on the door behind him. Once, twice, three times. He’d give hera few minutes to get to the coffee shop, then he’d text her and make sure she’darrived safely.

He’dthought he was so good, playing ball with her like the old days, teasing her,taunting her. Then he’d trampled all over her like a big clumsy oaf. If he keptthat up she’d never figure it out.

Yeah,that’s what he should do. Knock her down and bruise her up every time he sawher. Then she’d never guess the truth: that he’d fallen madly, crazily, andirrevocably in love with his best friend.

Hey Girls--How About That Baby Seal?

2011-12-15T23:10:00.002-05:00

It seems that nearly half the world was recently charmed by the photo of a baby seal in New Zealand who slipped in through the cat door and took a nap on someone's sofa. I suppose it's against the law to attempt to keep such an animal for a pet, but I'd be tempted. I wonder if they can be housebroken. Litterbox trained, perhaps? I figure if a seal at the zoo can be trained to balance a stemware glass on her nose, she can be trained to use proper facilities.

Animals fascinate me, sometimes too much for my fellow GWO bloggers. I distinctly remember Kristin's reaction when I posted a picture of a darling little armadillo snuggling against my hiking boot. And Colleen refused to even read one of my posts until I removed the picture of the spider and replaced it with something more innocuous. In fact, she screamed at me online. Honestly, Colleen, I didn't know you were terrified of spiders!

I pretty much overcame my fear of them the day a spider dropped down from the ceiling via web over the bed when Mel and I were retiring for the evening. I screamed at Mel that if that thing made it into the bedding we'd be sleeping on the floor that night, so I jumped up onto the bed and grabbed at the web far above the spider, and started pulling it back up. Mel, meanwhile, panicking as usual when it comes to spiders, ran toward the door--I thought to grab some paper towels to catch the thing. Instead, he turned out all the lights. With me standing on the bed with a spider hanging somewhere between my bare fingers and the bed. Mel, deafened by my screams, turned the lights back on and raced back to the bed with his handy dandy bug zapper. We searched half the night for that spider and never did find it. The next night, when Mel was getting comfortable in bed, I picked up a piece of black, spider-shaped lint and tossed it at him. I'm a mean, vindictive wife.

So, now that we've discussed cute, unusual pets, and even though I'm almost positive we've discussed them before but have forgotten, care to share about any unusual pets you've enjoyed, or funny, maybe even scary, stories about them?

Playing Catch Up

2011-12-14T16:39:00.003-05:00

I've been working on rewriting a book, and it hasn't been easy. My life, like most people's in today's society, is pretty busy. Running here and there and everywhere. So there's such a sense of accomplishment when I finish something. Until the slovenly part of sitting all day sets in and you realize, that book came at a cost.

I have to admit, I'm stunned by how that family on "19 Kids and Counting" maintains peace in such a hectic environment. I will admit homeschooling helps because all I do is pick up and drop off kids, it seems. I know Denise has the same issue, though it's easier now that she has one is in college.

Still, as women, we are prone to doing for everyone else, and we come last. I feel that every time I finish a book and it takes me longer to get back in shape, each and every time. (Sort of like the difference between having child one and having child four!) I really am a good scheduler, but someone's schedule always changes and that makes me have to change my plans.

If you could organize your life into a television family's, real or created, which family would you be?

I'd like to be "19 Kids and Counting" with their calm spirit and process for everything from laundry to dinner. But I think I'm more Marge Simpson.

PUB BOARD

2011-12-13T09:41:00.005-05:00

There have been two momentous things happen to me this past week. The first thing was Tidewater Inn was wrapped up. That is the final book with the dream team of Erin Healy (left) me and Ami McConnell. Erin is flying high with her own books and my book was her last project. Luckily, she loved it and said it was my best which made me very happy! :)

The next thing is that yesterday I got to go to Pub Board. If you are a writer, you have heard that term. It's steeped in hallowed tones of awe when it's spoken. Pub Board is where a proposal sells or falls flat. Even after all these years in publishing, I'm still in awe of that committee. So when I was invited to come present a new proposal, I jumped at the chance! LOL So I'm going to pull back the curtain a bit and let you catch a glimpse of what took place in that room.

It was an ordinary meeting room just off the cafeteria. There were small tables in it, the narrow kind. They were arranged in a big square. My editor and I were at the head of the room under the screen where she had thrown up a Powerpoint of my Rock Harbor novels. The room was packed with people. There were way more people than I had imagined. My editor had said there would be about 20 but it looked more like more, though I didn't count. I had met maybe half of them so as I presented, it was great to see friendly, familiar faces. There were people from all the different sales channels there to say whether or not it was an idea they could sell into their channel. I think there were accountants there too, though I didn't get introduced to everyone. But there were a LOT of people. I even met the famous Countrymans, both very nice people.

I told the group all about the new proposal, then there was a pause. Someone said, "I like it," and then others chimed in, "I like it too." I breathed a sigh of relief. Then they CLAPPED so I took that as a good sign. LOL I didn't get to stay as they discussed the nitty gritty of everything, but I heard from a friend in the room that they loved it. Shew!

It gave me a new appreciation for my editors. If I were a new author they'd never heard of, I can only imagine how hard it would be to look at that sea of faces and persuade them of your vision. The editor would have to sell the idea even harder than the author. My time there was pretty easy since I've been at Thomas Nelson for 9 years and they all know me.

So how about you? What have you heard about pub board? Or if you're not a writer, do you have another scary meeting you've ever had to attend

Book Giveaway! "The Accidental Bride"

2011-12-12T07:22:00.003-05:00

I saw a Christmas contest the other day for the worst gift a husband gave his wife. The "winner" was a woman whose husband gave her a tire gauge--in a long slim jewelry box. ACK. I hope he was a just-starting-out newlywed and hadn't yet gotten the hang of the gifting thing, God love him. God love her.

Kevin's a good gifter, so I can't complain. Never gotten me anything with a cord, nothing that goes in a tool box or is involved with chores.

But I'm sure there are those out there whose husbands are, shall we say, gifticapped. So, chime in. Don't be shy. It doesn't even have to be, ahem, "your" husband. It could be your "friend's" husband.

There's a brand spanking new copy of "The Accidental Bride" at stake--I just got them in the mail. :) PLEASE LEAVE YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS!

Once Upon a Time

2011-12-09T20:55:00.003-05:00

Once upon a time there was a young woman named Leah who wanted to be a novelist. From her earliest memories she made up stories--some of which were to the dismay of parents and teachers, and sometimes her classmates. She even wrote true stories in such a way as to make them sound fictionalized and grab the attention of her reader.

When Leah was 29, she got serious and sat down with notepad and pen and began her first real novel. To her surprise, the words fell into place. Even when she was seated in the living room with family all around, she found she was able to concentrate on her inner thoughts. In three months, the story was finished and she purchased a word processor to type it into a readable novel. In one year she completed four novel-length manuscripts and purchased a copy of Sally Stuart's Christian Writer's Market Guide to find out where to send her stories.

While Leah continued to write, she marketed what she'd already had written, attended writing courses, began meeting with other writers and discovered she could also make a decent income writing magazine articles. Life continued for her. She had some rough patches when she wasn't sure how she could go on but she did. She had some good times when her articles sold and she was able to hold those published articles in her hand, with her byline beneath the titles. Life was good, and life was bad, and years rolled on and Leah continued to write her novels, market them, learn her craft and make friends in the writing world.

Fourteen years later, after more experiences of ups and downs in her life than Leah had ever dreamed anyone could endure, she sold a novel. She had written thirteen novels, was working on the fourteenth, when someone took a second look at her work and saw quality there. They saw depth of experience and a wisdom that came through years of living life. One publisher after another began to pick up Leah's work and consider it for publication. One reader after another learned about Leah, and word spread.

Leah wasn't an overnight success. She continued to write and sell and see her share of contest awards and ugly reviews. She saw some good sales and some disappointing ones, and she kept on writing through it all.

And the moral of that story, my friends, is that if you want to become a successful novelist, you sit down and start writing and you don't stop. You live life and keep writing. You study the craft and study other crafters, and you keep pushing forward.

Now that I think about it, isn't that the way you do anything you really dream of doing? If you want to be a movie producer, you don't just walk into a movie studio one day and sit down at a producer's desk, you do the work, learn the skills, study other masters of the trade. If you have a dream, you follow that dream and live it for the rest of your life. And that is success.

Tone

2011-12-08T08:55:00.003-05:00

While the cover and title sometimes give an indication of the type of book you’ll be reading, the overall tone of the book is normally set up in the first scene. How the book will make you “feel.” Are you in the mood for something funny? You should know it from the start from the tone of your book. For instance, in Kristin Billerbeck’s “With this Ring, I’m Confused,” she opens with the heroine’s thoughts on a wedding dress. Here’s an excerpt:

“I want sequins and crystals and a bum bow the size of Brazil, leg-o'-mutton sleeves, and a train that practically explodes onto the scene. I want something that screams, I'm the bride! lost in a snow flurry of white. Bring on winter, baby! Ashley Stockingdale is getting married!”

I love that! We can tell right away this is going to be a fun read.

Colleen Coble’s book grabs me with the first punch, in Lightkeeper's Daughter, with dark skies, thunder, and an explosion! Adventure all the way!

And Denise’s love stories always make me swoon (I never say that word but it seemed appropriate here). In “A Cowboy’s Touch” we immediately know that Mom is pressuring the heroine to find a man. I know within the first couple of pages that the book will be lighthearted, fun, and more-importantly, romantic.

My opening line in Hot Flashes & Cold Cream pretty much guarantees you’re not reading Sci-Fi, Murder & Mayhem or a conquer-the-world sort of book:

“With one glance at my body in the bedroom mirror, my suspicions are confirmed. Everything has gone south--and I didn't make a reservation.”

So when writing get into the mood of your story. Music helps, or maybe going to a certain place that makes you think of your book. Right now I’m writing winter scenes, so the snow and chilled air are perfect for pushing me to write.

What helps you set your tone?

Finding your Strength as a Writer

2011-12-07T12:57:00.004-05:00

When I first started writing, some of the early feedback I received was that my dialogue was very good. My conversations seemed real and they did not read as one would expect. They were different.

I also heard that I did not create enough conflict to keep a story going.

In the end, (or the middle as this may be -- I hope) my strength turned out to be my voice. I have a strong storytelling voice with a bent towards humor.

Finding your own strength is writing is a good thing to know. What separates you from the pack? What makes a (INSERT NAME HERE) book? Finding your strength and working that to its fullest potential can be what makes you special in this business. Look at Nicholas Sparks. His specialty is NOT voice. He tells his story pretty straight-forwardly. But he's got that gut emotional appeal that connects him to his readers in a way that makes his books addictive.

You don't have to be the best writer in the world to find your place. There are certainly GREAT writers who can't tell a story to get through a paragraph. Look over your writing. What's your strength?

1. Voice?
2. Conflict?
3. Characters?
4. Dialogue?
5. Exciting individual scenes?
6. Plot?
7. Gut Emotional Appeal?
8. Romance Scenes?
9. Action Scenes?
10. Historical Information?
11. Setting?
12. Theme?
13. Something else?

Ask yourself where you fit in -- really work up your strengths and build where you're weak. This is not rocket science, but knowing where YOU as a writer fit into the marketplace can really help hone your proposals and get your book to its rightful audience.

SHE'S WEARING WHAT?

2011-12-05T21:38:00.004-05:00

I had to show this cover because it's a finalist for the ECPA best cover of 2011. It's the only novel on the list and I'm way excited!

And that brings to my topic: writing an interesting character. I like my characters to be overcomers--a woman who has faced hard things in life and come out stronger and better with God's help. Someone who turns her lemons into lemonade. So I thought I'd share the character sheet I use. Disclaimer: I have no idea where this thing came from. LOL It may have come from a book, it may have come from teaching somewhere.

So here are the questions to ask your character:

CHARACTER TRAITS

1. Give basic stats of your character: name, age, appearance.

2. What trauma or hard knocks happened when the character was young? How did this change him/her?

3. What is your character’s relationship with their family? Parents still alive? Any sibling rivalry?

3. What does your character do for a living? Can you come up with something even more interesting or that gives him/her a strength? This is a biggie for me. I like an interesting profession.

4. What secret does your character hide?

5. What does your character have to lose? How can you make his possible loss worse?

6. Who hates your character and why?

7. What does your character fear?

8. What quirk does your character have?

9. What’s in his/her refrigerator right now?

10. Look at your character’s feet. Describe what you see there. Does he wear dress shoes, gym shoes, or none at all? Is he in socks that are ratty and full of holes? Or is he wearing a pair of blue and gold slippers knitted by his grandmother?

11. Your character is doing intense spring cleaning. What is easy for her to throw out? What is difficult for her to part with? Why?

12. What is your character’s greatest regret?

Want to share something interesting from what you're working on right now? Let's share from #10. What's on your character's feet? Here's mine:

Tess is wearing clown shoes. She works at a bookstore in the children's department. Today she is the day she reads to the children so she is dressed like a clown.

Your turn!

Holiday Changes

2011-12-05T07:14:00.001-05:00

Where there's life, there's change. This Christmas marks the first holiday with Baby Boy at college. He's not here to help pick out and cut down the Christmas tree, hang all his ornaments, and set our annoying singing snowman on the hearth.

Maybe that's why I'm dragging my feet this year. It's just not the same without the whole family. But I'd better get used to it, because in a couple years, Chad will be at college and a few years after that, Trevor.

Then it'll be just hubby and me, and we'll probably break down and buy an artificial tree. I'll count my blessings though because, for some, the holidays are much tougher due to a tragic loss this year.

Other families have had recent marriages or births in the family and are celebrating with new family members this year. What changes do this Christmas season bring to your household?

PHOTO : Last year at the Christmas Tree Farm

Hey Girls--Do You Have the Gift of Giving?

2011-12-01T21:58:00.004-05:00

I have two words for you today. Love offering. I'd like to explore the meaning of that phrase--not just those two words separately, but what those two words mean when they're put together.

First of all, I apologize if, being Southern Baptist, I'm talking about a phrase some of you may not recognize. Perhaps in your church you use a different name for it.

In my church I have always been led to believe that a love offering is something that is given in secret through the church to someone else in the church who is in financial need. That's supposed to be secret. I mean, as in--you never tell that person you gave that money to them, and no one else is supposed to tell them, either. It's a gift of love, of compassion, something from the heart that only God--and a trusted person from the church--ever sees coming from your hand. Then when the giver arrives in heaven, God Himself will reward the giver openly.

I've seen so many people crave praise from the masses and never consider the passages in the Bible that tell us to give in secret. To me, that's what a love offering is all about. Give privately, in secret, without expectation of praise or recognition or repayment of any kind. Do good to others NOT so they will return that goodness, but simply for the joy of doing good. Let God do the rewarding later, when it will mean so much more than any praise here on earth. Don't keep score. Let God keep score.

Am I preaching today? Hmm. Maybe a little. Because this is the season for gift giving, and often there are so many hidden meanings hidden inside the gifts given. Some people give expensive gifts out of pure love, while others give the largest gifts in order to seek approval from the receiver. Others go into debt to give gifts because they feel they have to keep up with the other set of grandparents or friends. Perhaps giving a gift, for some, is simply seeking love instead of sharing it.

I remember many years ago a man in a former church went blind. Another member, out of love for that man, purchased a Bible on audio tape and trusted another member to pass it on to the blind man, making the member promise to never tell who it came from. Unfortunately, the compassionate member chose the wrong person to keep the secret, and the blind man found out who gave him the gift. He told everyone in the church, and everyone in the church praised this compassionate member who had wanted to badly to remain anonymous. Some of the joy was taken from the giving member.

A love offering is not a loan. It isn't a loud, magnanimous act for public display. In my opinion it's meant to be an act of simple love, spoken privately into your ear by God. It isn't a way to hold sway over the person who receives the gift because, remember, that person should never know who has given the gift. You know why? Because that money was never ours to begin with. It all belongs to God. When God speaks to us and tells us to give a love offering to another church member--a brother or sister in Christ, or a family in need--God is directing you, His steward, where to deliver a portion of His money. So let go of something that belongs to God in the first place. Don't expect it to return to you. Then someday when you're facing God in heaven, you may hear Him say to you, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant."

Some of us are gifted with the spiritual gift of giving. Others have different gifts. I'm curious about how easy it is for those of you gifted with the gift of giving to keep that giving secret even from the recipient. If you haven't done that yet, I urge you to try it this year, and see what a reward you will have simply with the act of anonymous giving.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2011-11-30T17:10:00.002-05:00

Except not for music. I know my beloved Diann relishes her Christmas music. But I seriously turn into Scrooge. There are contractors working in my house (we're getting new windows, YAY!) and the noise is driving me crazy. So I thought I'd walk to Starbucks and edit. But...there's a problem. Christmas music.

I can't write and hear Christmas music. Are you kidding me? I will start writing murder books. Okay, the worst of it this year for me? I cannot STAND Josh Groban and my favorite Xmas song is "Oh Holy Night" and guess who is singing it this year? That's right, Josh-make-me-want-to-hurl-Groban. It's just wrong. Wrong, I tell you.

If you've paid any attention to my history, I LOVE David Crowder. And he's got a CD out for Christmas. Now, I love all things Crowder and I can't not support my favorite band. So I had to buy the CD. But I sent it to Diann. Because even David Crowder isn't man enough to make me listen to Christmas music.

Christmas music is like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. And I have to be alone in this because everyone has a Christmas album out. Neil Diamond. Barbra Streisand. Barry Manilow...and aren't they Jewish? I mean, clearly they can get into the holiday. What is wrong with me?

I should seriously do my Christmas shopping before they start with the Xmas music. That will be my goal for next year. How are you like Scrooge? Anyone?

Calling MusicGal!

2011-11-30T10:02:00.001-05:00

MusicGal, you're the winner of a signed copy of "Smitten"! Email your address to me at Denise@denisehunterbooks.com

The statuette couple officially has a name: Mr. and Mrs. Darling.

The Darlings are very grateful for everyone's help and suggestions! And rest assured, there will be more giveaways of "Smitten" coming soon!

HELP SMITTEN

2011-11-29T07:39:00.000-05:00

It's finally here! Time for a visit to a charming Vermont town named Smitten. Isn't it cute? We are all sooo excited that it is hitting stores now. The culmination of many months of work and excitement.

But Smitten needs your help. Thomas Nelson is working on a Smitten website that is going to be sooo fun and interactive. We're going to have some great sections with recipes, spa treatment suggestions, exercise tips, pet tips and visits with us. Well, our characters, but really us. :) One of the sections is going to be the chapel where we'd love to hear your stories about how you were "Smitten by Christ." Another section will be where we post stories of how you met your spouse. And we'd love to have a few stories to "prime the pump" so to speak. If you'd like to participate, post your story here or if you want to REALLY stay anonymous, email your story to me at colleen@colleencoble.com.

Want to hear MY story of how I met Dave? I'm a little ashamed to admit this but I was going steady with his best friend. Both fellows were in the Air Force. Dave's friend asked him to take care of me while he was stationed clear across the country. Dave was only 3 hours away. He of course said yes because he already had plans. LOL I was totally smitten and still am 40 years later. Dave was the perfect match for me. I'm loud and boisterous, and he's quite and thoughtful. I've never met a stranger and he's more reserved. I can get scattered in a thousand directions but he is true and steady. God knew what I needed and it was my Dave.

So how about you? Want to share?

Win a Signed Copy of Smitten!

2011-11-27T19:54:00.001-05:00

See this cute couple? They recently joined our family. I'll be taking them with us as we travel and go about life--kind of like Travelocity's Roaming Gnome--and I'll be posting their photos on my Facebook page.
https://www.facebook.com/authordenisehunter

Here's where I need your help. This lovely couple needs a name. It can be Mr. and Mrs. Fill-in-the-blank, first names, or some creative name that captures their coupledom.

Leave your suggestions, as many as you like, and if yours is my favorite, you'll win an early autographed copy of "Smitten"!

I'll make a selection Tuesday (11-29-11) so don't delay!

Hey Girls--Help Me Decorate

2011-11-25T00:19:00.004-05:00

No one who walks into our home can say I'm a master decorator. I don't have an eye for color. For instance, to me, light sky blue is light sky blue. But my friend tells me it isn't that at all, it has hints of soft gray that are actually more relaxing than the blue I was considering.

Let me tell you what I have, and maybe you could help. We have a rather large house, with a basement that is as large as the upstairs. We've left it pretty much a storage area until recently, when we hired someone to care for Mom eight hours a day. She does wonderfully, but Mom always wants to know where I am, and so there we all end up in the same room together, the four of us, even, when Mel's home, because he wants to spend time with me, too. But a crowd of people in our cluttered unfinished office is not conducive to focused writing--we moved everything in there from the front room so Mom's familiar furniture could surround her and make her feel more at home. We realized we were in desperate need of another place where I could write in silence and isolation.

But for me it has to be pretty. Years ago we went to a local paint store and purchased a mural that would fit on one of the walls in our selected room. It's also our tornado shelter, meaning no windows. I need light. The room is huge, about 18 x 15, and we'll place the mural on the far wall. It's a mural of a lake scene in the woods, so we'll need to paint the rest of the walls the sort of blue that's in the mural. That much I've figured out. I'd like to take the hideous ceiling panels out and paint them blue, then sponge white for clouds, then paint the holders a sort of wooden brown or dark silver to make it look like the skylights are supported by wood or strong bars. Mel said something about curtains on either side of the mural. Since the whole room is concrete and dark paneling, we would need to paint the concrete floor and the paneling the right color of blue.

I have no idea how to go about any of this. You girls are a special group of very creative people. If you have any idea what I'm talking about and can give me some suggestions, hints, or even a dire warning not to do what I'm planning to do, please let me know? This will be my place for writing, relaxing, maybe even a place for Mel and me to share alone time without waking Mom when she's trying to rest. Any help? If you can come up with something that will really make this underground room shine, I'd be forever grateful!

Remember, I'm waiting for some answers. I'll even take pictures after it's all finished and hope it turns out to be as beautiful as I dream for it to be.

Much Love,

Cheryl

(aka Hannah Alexander)

Videos Galore!

2011-11-22T07:55:00.000-05:00

I guess this season is my time to get videos made. LOL Here is one that Thomas Nelson had done with me.

And here is one that was shot by Romantic Times at the ACFW Conference.

http://www.rtbookreviews.com/rt-daily-blog/video-interview-colleen-coble#comment-20578

Leave a comment with your email and I'll pull 10 names out of the hat to receive a free copy! I finally got my copies.

Meet My Friend, Tread Mill

2011-11-21T07:12:00.001-05:00

Meet my friend, Tread Mill. TM and I met a while a back and were on a friendly basis for a while. We spent time together regularly, but eventually we fell apart. It's been a few weeks now. Okay, a few months. All right, years.

But you have to understand, she liked telling me what to do, and besides, I had to go into the basement to see her, and I don't like the basement--but that's another blog.

When the weather warmed, I began walking outside instead of spending time with TM. The view was better than the basement and besides, when I was outside, she wasn't there to order me around, and I liked that too.

Alas, the weather has grown cold, and TM has been calling me downstairs again. I know I need to see her, but I also know this basement thing is going to be a constant barrier. So last night, Kevin and Chad brought TM upstairs to live. She's in our living room now, hulking over the sofa in the corner where I won't forget her--I'm sure she won't let me.

Do you have a friend like TM? How do you persist in (or avoid) spending time together?

Hey Girls--Lots of winners!

2011-11-18T00:49:00.006-05:00

As many of you know, last week I blogged a promise to send out a free book to anyone who commented on my blog. Well, the thing was, I had gone to bed, realized I would be sleeping late the next morning, and so dragged myself out of bed and typed my blog, intending to have a drawing. Only I didn't say drawing, I said free book. So then in the comments the next day I explained what I had done and promised to send a free book to those who had already commented--that was ten ladies.

However, many didn't go to the comments, and so they didn't receive my own comment, and so all weekend and beyond I continued to receive comments on my blog. So I thought, why not? If those who would like to read a book by Hannah Alexander are committed enough to comment and send me their snail mail, then they should get a book. It may not be The Wedding Kiss, except for the first ten commenters, but it will be a book by Hannah Alexander. However, I realized that those who didn't commit to read the comments didn't realize they'd won a book. So. You've won a book from me if you commented on last week's blog by Sunday night. All you need to do is email to askhannah@hannahalexander.com with your snail mail address so I can know where to send the book. No tricks. I'm not trying to collect snail mails. I don't do snail mail. But you've won if you commented, so let me send you a book!

Blessings from Hannah Alexander, who is kind of enjoying this, and may even win some new readers.

INTRODUCING LISA JORDAN

2011-11-15T06:00:00.000-05:00

Lisa has been a longtime friend and participant here on Girls Write Out. We've all cheered her on with her own writing efforts and no one could be more thrilled for her than we are because Lisa's first book is coming out! Whoohoo! We're sooo proud of you, Lisa!

Here's Lisa's bio: Heart, home and faith have always been important to Lisa Jordan, so writing stories that feature both comes naturally to her. She has been writing contemporary Christian romance for more than a decade. Her debut novel, Lakeside Reunion, will be released in November by Love Inspired, followed by her second novel, Lakeside Family, in August 2012 by Love Inspired. Happily married for twenty-two years, Lisa and her husband have two young adult sons. When she isn’t writing or caring for children in her in-home childcare business, Lisa enjoys family time, romantic comedies, good books, crafting with friends and feeding her NCIS addiction. Visit her at www.lisajordanbooks.com to learn more about her writing.

Now here's Lisa!

Directionally Challenged

Four years ago, I drove our oldest son to Boy Scout camp about two hours from our home. He spent his summer working as a lifeguard and swimming instructor.

Hubby usually drove, but he had to work, so my sister agreed to go with me. Two directionally-challenged adults are better than one, I say.

Common sense would’ve dictated that I should’ve paid closer attention when Hubby drove, but the trip was long and boring with windy roads and miles upon miles of trees. Rural? Oh, my, yes! Instead of noting directions, I kept my nose buried in a good book.

Before we left, Hubby rattled off directions faster than an auctioneer, but being the visual person that I am, I needed something to look at, so I printed out the route from Mapquest—no, I didn’t have GPS. By the way, don’t click the shortest distance box. Always go for shortest time.

According to the commandos at Mapquest, I needed to turn right onto Fire Tower Road. Okay, no problem. We’re three miles from camp with time to spare. I had this trip in the bag. Nothing to worry about.

Except Fire Tower Road is an impassible logging road with ruts that rivaled the Grand Canyon. Road was a definitely a tongue in cheek term for this donkey path.

Determined to get my son to camp, I pressed on even though there was no way this could be the right road. Continuing to follow the mapped route, I took the first left, as directed. No road. Instead, there was a gate across an even narrower impassible footpath.

Frustrated and angry, I called my husband at work. He told me how to get to camp from where we were located. Less than three miles, but it took me over an hour to go that short distance. Not to mention the paint damage my car received from that nasty little jaunt.

My boys like to poke fun at their directionally-challenged mother, but you know what? They’re right. Yes, I’m sometimes directionally-challenged trying to get from Point A to Point B, but I can be directionally-challenged by sitting at my computer while writing too. If my characters lack defined motivation, they wander all over the place. If I receive feedback from too many sources, my story voice gets lost as I try to please everyone else.

For clarity about my writing, I need to stop and focus on God’s direction. Instead of poking our noses in the proverbial books in life, we need to look up from our current chapters and pay attention to the routes we’re taking. Taking shortcuts in our spiritual and writing lives leads us down rutted, bumpy roads that can cause damage, if we’re not careful. When we trust in Him and focus on His Word, He will make our paths straight.

~*~

Lakeside Reunion: Bed-and-breakfast owner Lindsey Porter prays she won’t run into Stephen Chase when she returns to Shelby Lake. Five years ago, the cop jilted her to marry another woman, and Lindsey fled town. But no sooner does she hit city limits than Stephen pulls her over for a broken taillight. Despite the past, he’s still able to stir up Lindsey’s old feelings for him. Now a widower and single dad, Stephen recognizes a second chance when he sees one. And he’ll do anything to make Lindsey trust in God and take a risk for love—again. Read an excerpt of Lakeside Reunion here.

I’m holding a scavenger hunt and lakeside photo contest to promote my Lakeside Reunion release. Plus, blog commenters on my blog hop will be put in a drawing for fun prizes—breakfast basket, Love Inspired Authors basket, autographed copies of Lakeside Reunion. Visit my Lakeside Reunion Contest page for more information.

The token for this blog is a road map. Join in!

Meet our Turkeys

2011-11-14T08:52:00.001-05:00

Recently we've had some visitors at the Hunter household--turkeys! And no, I'm not referring to our friends or family.

This group of seven or eight turkeys have turned up in our yard 3 times over the past week. If we were a different kind of Hunters, we might see a Thanksgiving feast when we look out our window these days, but instead, we welcome them to our property and hope the other kind of hunters are interested only in deer. (They are not fond of Daisy, incidentally, who once chased them into the sky. Man, can those birds fly!)

I'm so looking forward to Thanksgiving. It's seems like forever since we've seen our family, who lives in a different state. It's a time to gather 'round the table and catch up on each others' lives. And hey, the food's not bad either. What are you looking forward to this Thanksgiving?

Hey Girls--Free Book if You Comment

2011-11-11T02:21:00.003-05:00

No artwork today, since you can see the copy of the book I'm giving away by my name at the side of the blog. The title is The Wedding Kiss. I'll add your name to the list if you let me know why you think you might like a copy of this book--or even if there's another Hannah Alexander book you think you'd like better--and I'll send it to you. You have all weekend to chime in, and since I'll be away part of the weekend, even if you don't hear from me, believe me when I say I plan to do this. Since this is writers week, this is my contribution. You may read The Wedding Kiss and see dozens of things you'd do differently. You may read it and decide I might know how to write. Whatever, I hope you learn something from reading it. And that's my lesson for today. Now let me know why you think you might want it!

The Right Word

2011-11-10T10:16:00.005-05:00

Okay, so I couldn't do a blog without another picture of our newest grandson, Maddox James. Do you see that he's smiling? Most likely thinking of a trip to Nanny and Papaw's house. :-)

On to the matter of writing. Finding that right word. Sometimes I want to bang my head against a wall, because the word I want is on the tip of my tongue, but I just can't grasp it. I flip through online thesauruses, dictionaries, nothing.

While I worked for a court reporter, I spent many days waiting on the attorneys or deponent to arrive. One day I decided to think of all the verbs and adjectives I could think of, colorful and bright, to refer to when I was writing. I had pages and pages. Wish I could remember what I did with that!

Anyway, what do you do to find the right word? Remember, the words we choose also reveal our writing voice.

Writing Rules I've Broken...

2011-11-09T06:04:00.000-05:00

See the pelicans? I took this over the weekend. Not related to writing, but isn't it pretty?

We've all heard the stereotypical advice:
Write what you know.
Read what you write.
Don't write to the market.

I'll tell you one piece of advice that I think trumps all others: When given advice, LISTEN to what works, throw out what doesn't.

I think in my years as a writer, the one thing I've seen in authors who don't get published year after year is their EGO! This is not a business if you have a big ego. I've heard people who think they're going to be famous. Please. A real writer is about the words. The promotion is usually a painful necessity.

I met a woman the other day who cannot shut up about her writing. She went on and on about her successes and her meeting famous writers, etc. when she's never been published and she has an author of 40 books in front of her. Did she ever ask ONE question? She did not. She knew it all.

The topic of her book is really depressing (cancer) and it's about cancer in a narcissist and how the heroine is victimized by him. Had she asked, I would have told her, your heroine better be likable because even if he is a narcissist, people don't want to see him die without repenting. And they don't want to see the heroine as a victim when she could have walked away for her own health. That makes her a stupid doormat. No one identifies with the stupid doormats. The strong, willful doormats? Like Melanie in "Gone with the Wind" or "Jane Eyre" -- YES!

I've written forty books. I don't know it all. Don't pretend that I do. The more I learn, the more I realize I have yet to learn. So if you haven't been published in a long time, maybe it's time to consider the fact that you're not listening to professional advice that's given to you. Just maybe.

BACK TO THE FUTURE

2011-11-08T06:36:00.000-05:00

This is the cover of my first book. It was my "grieving" book for my brother Randy who died in a freak lightning accident. That incident propelled me into writing.

As first books go, it wasn't too bad. At least that's what I thought. But my brother Rick found the original printout of that first book and gave it to me this past weekend. Ahem, this was the original. The one before any editing. The one before I even got close to being published. It is terrible! Horrible, awful, putrid. You think I'm overreacting but I'm not. I skimmed through that puppy and thought if this author (me) was able to grow enough to write something publishable, then anyone can build on their craft. :)

So in honor of that terrible first book, I'm going to give you a list of what NOT to do in a novel. I did every one of these things in that first book. Oh the horror! LOL

1. Backstory should not make up the entire first three chapters. What brings a character to the place we find them can be fascinating, but it's better hinted at rather than spelled out at first. It's better to intrigue the reader by tiny references to something that has gone before.

2. Pages and pages of introspection and no dialogue can scare your reader. When he/she flips through the pages, there needs to be white space. As in dialogue. A book with no dialogue is slooow reading!

3. Don't make the book autobiographical. While you may think your situation is spellbinding, chances are it's just plain boring. :)

4. Don't take up pages and pages of action that goes nowhere. Every scene needs to have a reason to be there.

5. Don't change points of view in the middle of a scene. It is disorienting for the reader and it keeps him/her from identifying with your character.

6. Tell the story in as few points of view as possible. Multiple points of view can make for a richer story but the butcher doesn't need his own point of view to tell us that the character has brown hair. LOL

And yes, I did all those things in this first draft that my brother uncovered. It's at least twenty years old, and while I wanted to think it was a historic find, I'd be embarrassed to let anyone else read it! It's that bad. I shudder to think I subjected my poor brother to it! LOL

Have you ever done any of these things? And do you have some advice for aspiring writers?

Growing Characters

2011-11-07T09:27:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Joseph. He was the apple of his dad's eye and, as such, became prideful, boasting to his brothers. As a result, his brothers hated him. They sold him into slavery and told his dad he'd died. Joseph grew in wisdom, learning much, and became the head of his master's household. But soon a false accusation landed him in prison.

You know the end of the story. He earned the respect of the guards and was eventually lifted to a position second only to Pharaoh. Joseph went from a prideful boy to a servant leader, but it wasn't without a touch of misery, a nugget of betrayal, and a pound of unmerited discipline.

What does Joseph have to do with writing? Just as God used terrible circumstances to grow Joseph (and us!), so must we use trials to grow our protagonist. This can be hard at first. Hey, we're nice people! We don't like wreaking havoc on others. But havoc must happen for our protagonists to grow, and grow they must.

But don't make too many terrible things happen to your protagonist--this can feel contrived. Sometimes, one solid trial is enough to carry a story.

In "You've Got Mail", Kathleen Kelly falls in love with the man who destroyed the precious bookshop her late mother had opened.
In "The Lakehouse", Kate falls in love with a man who's living in a different time.
In "While You were Sleeping", Lucy finally falls in love, but his family thinks she's engaged to his brother.
In "A Cowboy's Touch", a journalist finds the love of a cowboy and the story of her life only to realize she has to choose between the two.

So bring on bring on the impossible complications, bring on the unfortunate losses, the undeserved consequences. Just remember, it's for their own good--and for the good of your readers.

Hey Girls--Do You Need a Lift?

2011-11-04T17:20:00.002-04:00

I love sunrises. Unfortunately, one reason for this is because they're so rare for me. I see sunsets much more often.

For me, a sunrise is a fresh beginning on a new opportunity to do things right that I may have missed the day before. It's funny that New Years Day doesn't do the same for me, but sunrises are rarer, even, than New Years. I get up at about ten, go to bed well after midnight, often as late as 2:00, because that is the best time to focus on writing. That, plus my poor mother having trouble sleeping at night, keeps me going into the early morning hours. That is why I love a sunset.

They can lift me in ways nothing else can. They hold promise, and such beauty. Recently I discovered a way to give myself a lift despite the lack of sunrises in my life. I surprise myself by recalling something I actually like about myself. Most of us have a bad habit of putting ourselves down and counting our faults. We can so easily keep track of our mistakes during the day. I have that tendency. But what if we were to focus on something we've done right recently?Did you allow someone to pull in front of you in traffic without muttering or honking the horn?

Have you ever smiled at someone and cheered them up? Have you helped someone out of a tough spot? Have you felt your heart go tender for someone whose heart was breaking? Think about it. Are you a kind person, do you have qualities that you appreciate in others? Do you have a creative personality?

Give yourself a sunrise today, lift yourself up. Look for the good in yourself, and not those things that the devil seems to love to whisper into your ear at every opportunity. Focus on the good in yourself, and that is the direction your heart will lean.

And then share here. I'd love to know what good things you are thinking about yourself today.

Smitten Interview

2011-11-03T12:54:00.002-04:00

Family Fiction was kind enough to interview us (Colleen Coble, Diann Hunt, Denise Hunter and Kristin Billerbeck) for the new Smitten book that releases in December. I'm so excited for this book and the chance to write with my best buddies. I think book two is even STRONGER than the first, so I'm so excited. There's even a potential Smitten song, which is incredible, and so fun. So read the article and see if you're Smitten with small-town Vermont, as we are!

http://www.familyfiction.com/magazines/2011/nov-dec/pageflip.aspx

And I find this post incredibly bad-timing after my blog on self-promotion! LOL

Plays well with others...

2011-11-02T13:39:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I spoke for a large group of women for a ministry named "Buckner" -- it's a wonderful ministry and the houses that one family dedicated to the community for single mothers -- was amazing!

At the end of the event, I signed books for lovely people who gave me grace (I am not the best speaker being very ADD) and I have to say, it was so much easier to offer up the book of devotionals, "Delight yourself in the Lord, Even on Bad Hair Days" because it was a group project. It wasn't about me. And some of its proceeds will go to Ovarian cancer research. As two of our writers (Sandra Bricker and our own Diann Hunt) have fought this awful disease, I felt solid in its power.

I feel the same about "Smitten" because it's such a celebration of friendship and how different the four of us in the book are. (Colleen Coble, Diann Hunter, Denise Hunter and myself.)

I cannot sell myself to save my life. I watch some of these authors and they have no trouble telling you how fabulous their book is, but I just see the flaws. Isn't that a terrible flaw? I can't see the good in a lot of life, and yet, I see it in all of those lovely people around me.

What kind of promotion to do you love/hate from your favorite or even less-favorite authors?

HOW TO MAKE A MARRIAGE LAST

2011-10-31T21:00:00.000-04:00

Dave and I celebrated our 40th anniversary on Sunday. It seems impossible that we've been married that long, mostly because I still feel like the 19 year old girl he married. LOL I look older and my body lets me know I'm no spring chicken, but I don't feel any older.

So from the depths of my great wisdom (ha!) I thought we could talk about what makes a marriage last. How do you get through the tough times that every couple faces? I'd like to hear from you too, but here is my personal list for building my marriage.

1. Appreciate all the things your spouse does for you. Verbalize it in front of others too.

2. Focus on your spouse's good qualities. If you dwell on the things that bug you, that's all you'll see. If you have to, write out a list and remind yourself.

3. Say "I love you" every day. Many times. :)

4. Don't try to change your spouse. You have rough edges too. We all do. You will NOT change them and you will only frustrate yourself if you try. Reread #2. :)

5. Love is not a feeling. It's daily choices that we make on how we treat each other. Practice love and thoughtfulness.

Now it's your turn. What tip can you offer for a lasting relationship?

Hey Girls--Share Your Memories

2011-10-28T00:42:00.002-04:00

I'm sure you can tell by the facial hair on these three people that there aren't children in this picture. I hope you can see from the bubbles that Mel and Rich and I were having fun like children when Lissa took the shot. I'm here to remind you, once again, to take time to have fun and play no matter your age or circumstances. Laughter relieves stress. I particularly love laughing at myself, but today I'd love to laugh along with you.

Let me give you some examples:

When I was about three or four years old my cousins came to see me. Their mother was there, too, but I mostly played with my cousins. They were boys. I had a little fire engine with pedals. In an effort to impress my cousins, I jumped into my fire engine and pedaled hard down the sidewalk, mouth open wide as I screamed the siren song. Unfortunately, I choked on a fly.

When I was four we lived in a duplex on a busy street in Ventura, California. It was a long time ago, back when people didn't lock their doors as often as they do now. I overheard my parents talking about a poor little baby who lived next door. My imagination took over, even that long ago, and I decided that little baby needed to be rescued from his mean parents, and I was going to be the rescuer. So I waited outside on the front porch and peered through their screen door until I saw the baby crawling alone on the floor. I pulled open the screen door, raced into our neighbor's front room, grabbed the baby, turned back to run with the baby, and fell on him. He wasn't hurt, but can you imagine how my parents must have felt when I explained to the neighbors why I did what I did?

When I was in fourth grade I was still impulsive, and there were times when that impulsivity earned me public humiliation. I liked a guy in my class named Willy. I wasn't madly in love with him or anything, I just liked him. I was walking past his desk one day when, for no reason I could afterwards fathom, I leaned over, patted him on the cheek, asked how he was doing, and kissed him on the cheek. Willy turned red and ducked. The whole class, including the teacher, burst into laughter.

How about you? Have you ever done anything that your friends will never let you live down? Did you ever do anything so crazy and impulsive that you wonder if some UFO took over your mind for a few minutes one day? What's your most embarrassing moment? Think about your childhood today, and even if you don't come up with anything wildly memorable, I bet you'll have some fun reliving times from the past.

2011-10-27T08:44:00.003-04:00

I don't think I've told you guys yet, but maybe I have (chemo brain and all). My book, "Bittersweet Surrender" will release in e-form in December!!! Whoohooooo!!! This book takes place in a--are you ready for this--chocolate spa! How fun is that?!

Okay, enough shameless promotion. Now I want to ask you something. My earlier writings have bent toward the humorous--and I suppose all my work will have SOME humor, but the earlier work had more. Now I'm leaning toward a little more serious, heartwarming, that sort of thing.

My question to you is this, do you prefer a serious drama to a comedy or vice versa? I know I like novels that move my emotions, whether laughing, crying, or whatever. Sometimes I have to be in the mood for one or the other.

What about you?

A Non-Writer Relaxes

2011-10-26T23:10:00.004-04:00

This is my friend Kimberley and I at David Crowder, the first night of my so-called sabbatical.

I haven't written anything for a book in two weeks. I think this is the longest stretch I've had for at least fifteen years, and I'm learning how to be human again. Although last night at the Fallapallooza (our church's Fall festival) my boys worked, and I stuffed my head in a book most of the night.

I know that's not proper etiquette, and I did have some nice conversations, but mostly, I'm not sure how to be in the world again and I'm sort of greedy on my reading time. (My daughter is also at science camp, so life is quieter without her talking all the time.)

But I can see why vacations in America really aren't long enough. It takes a long time to come off of that high energy world in which we work. What's the most relaxed you've ever been on a vacation, and how long did it last?

So Many Books

2011-10-24T09:30:00.000-04:00

I've mentioned before I'm a picky reader. I don't like this fact, but there it is. So when I find an author I love, I don't want to miss her next release.

Combine this with my increasingly terrible memory, and I have a problem. There are about 20 authors whose next book I don't want to miss. I join authors' newsletters so they remind me. I start lists. I friend them on Facebook. But I still find myself missing releases because some of my favs are not NYT bestselling authors who have multiple ads in every magazine, and some of them don't even manage to get a newsletter out.

Add to this, there were about 288,000 new books published in 2009--that's 790 new titles every day. (A number that makes the author in me want to crawl under the covers.) I'm sure the number is even higher now with e-books, so the possibility of my favs getting lost in the shuffle is pretty high.

Please, there has to be a better a way to keep track. How do you make sure you don't miss your fav authors' next books?

Where's your Favorite Place to Read?

2011-10-19T13:55:00.003-04:00

We had a mishap with my Kindle. My son borrowed it, and it came back wet and not working. He claimed innocence. (Big surprise!) But in reality, I forced it on him. All of the kids dislike the Kindle and would rather have a book. I don't know why that makes me feel giddy, but it does. However, we were on a deadline for this particular book and he had to buy on the Kindle. Which turned out to be unfortunate.

Amazon replaced the Kindle for $65 if I returned the old one. (It's yours!) All of my books were redownloaded, and it was like nothing ever happened. But right now, I'm reading the "REAL" book. "The Forgotten Garden" by an Australian author that a friend sent over. It's a family saga, and fabulous, but in my house, I really have nowhere to read. We have to utilize every inch of space, so where do you steal away to read?

Where do the rest of you read? Do you have a garden? A comfy chair in the living room? Do you like to go to the library?

In this book, the character loves to hide away in secret when she reads. Don't you love that imagery? I'd love your ideas!

MIDDLE GRADE STORIES?

2011-10-18T10:33:00.004-04:00

I am going to write a children's story for my Punky. She'll be the main character in the story. I'm so excited about it! Thomas Nelson also would like me to write a middle grade series that ties in with one of my existing stories. So I got to thinking about my series. Here are a couple of options and I'd like your opinion.

My Rock Harbor series has Naomi and her family in it. Donovan had two children when they got married. Timmy and Emily. Emily is about the right age now for a middle grade book and she could have a mystery adventure series with Naomi's search dog Charley.

The other series possibility would be the Mercy Falls series. The first book has Brigitte and Doria in it. I'd thought about having them go into service at one of the Great Camps in the Adirondacks. Their mother had tuberculosis in that book.

So what do you think about all the possibilities? I'd love your opinion!

2011-10-16T21:40:00.000-04:00

When I first married, I found the grocery store crowd to be a world of its own. First of all, there were all these young, frazzled moms with toddlers pointing, begging, trantrumming. (Not a word, but it should be, right?)

Then there were the soccer moms with their lists and calculators, breaking up arguments between their coupon flipping.

You could tell the moms who left the kiddos home with hubby. They shopped S-L-O-W. And why not? This was their me-time. So it happened over cleaning products in aisle 11. You take what you can get. I understand this now.

The strangest to me, though, were the other ones. The older women who talked to themselves. When I encountered my first one, I thought she was talking to me. But when I answered, she turned with wide eyes. Oh, I thought. I guess she's just putting that question put out to the universe.

I was in the salad dressing aisle, searching for the pre-cooked bacon (because spaghetti carbonara is time-consuming enough without frying the bacon) when it happened to me. "Where is it, oh, please don't be out of it." The full sentence is out before I realize. I suck in my breath. I have become one of them. This can't be! I haven't even finished the soccer mom phase. "See? Here are my coupons!"

A young woman walks by. We make eye contact, and before she looks away, I see that look. The one that says,"Make a wide right. Crazy woman ahead."

"No," I want to say to her. "I'm not crazy! You'll be like me too, one day. You'll see."

I find the bacon pieces and toss the package in my cart. It's official. I have hit all the phases of the grocery life and landed, prematurely but inevitably, in the delusional, talking-to-self phase. The only thing to look forward to now is the motorized cart.

Hey Girls--Let's Herd Those Details!

2011-10-14T11:18:00.005-04:00

What on earth can this cat be thinking? Cats eat small animals. They are carnivores. My cats would have been fighting over these little darlings and had them swallowed in one gulp. Do you suppose this cat has already had a full meal?

Do you ever feel like this poor, patient cat? Do the tiny, often appealing, details distract you from your plans for the day? You need to get a couple of loads of laundry washed and dried and ready for three different people tomorrow, but first you need to eat breakfast, but first you see a dustball in the corner and even though no one else in the family will ever notice it, someone may stop by, and then what would they say? But then of course the window in the front door needs to be washed, as well, and you need to check the porch to make sure the neighbor's little boy didn't leave his skateboard on the steps again, or dear hubby could end up back in the ER.

So you but-first your way through the day until that laundry never got done, you didn't get to the pharmacy to pick up the refill before they closed, and you have nothing in mind for dinner tonight. Your front window looks great, and the dustballs are gone, but nobody ever comes to your house to visit, anyway. What were you thinking?

Please tell me I'm not the only one with the but-first syndrome. Please? I know the distractions are appealing, but really, I don't need them. I need to NOT have them. Girls, what do you do about them? Any thoughts? Or can you commiserate?

What Are You reading?

2011-10-13T09:25:00.003-04:00

Forgive the picture, but it's the only picture I had that seemed appropriate for my blog today.

I'm in need of a new book to read. I read fiction and non-fiction, so I'm open to either. I was hoping you all might suggest a good book. Got a favorite?

What are you currently reading? Or what would you read if you had the time? :-)

Home Repair Here I Come

2011-10-12T18:15:00.003-04:00

Today, I'm turing in my novel, "Paris in the Rain." It was a bear to write. I had one vision. Others had another and we met in the middle, which sounds easier than it was. I'm a pretty linear writer, so when I start moving stuff around, Fall becomes Spring and I don't know what era I'm living inside today.

As I look around my house, I've put off a lot of things until I was done with the novel. A new roof (it's raining already!), new windows (ours have black mold and sweat in the cold) and just general homemaking skills. Have you ever taken too long to get to something (maybe a doctor about a cough?) and then, you're in far worse shape?

Prioritizing one's life is a very hard thing to do when everyone counts on you. The other day, i stopped writing my novel, though I had no time to go to see my friend visiting from Tiblisi, Georgia and then the final David Crowder Band concert. I was late turning in my stuff. I didn't meet my deadline, but I thought on my deathbed, will I feel worse I didn't see my friend who came across the world and my favorite band that I've followed since the beginning, or will I miss my deadline?

Neither one is a great feeling. You're always letting someone down, so how do you make your priorities?

Hey Girls--News from Emily Rodmell

2011-10-06T21:00:00.003-04:00

Good morning everyone. I’m Emily Rodmell, an associate editor with Love Inspired. I want to thank Cheryl for inviting me to come and share a great writing opportunity with you all. Cheryl was one of the first authors that I worked with 7 years ago when I started my career at Love Inspired as an assistant to her editor. Now I work with over 30 authors of my own, and I’m so glad that she and her husband Mel are now going to be writing for Love Inspired Historical. Love Inspired Historical is an inspirational historical romance line of books at Harlequin. We recently expanded our offerings from 2 books a month to 4 books a month. This expansion is good news for historical romance fans because it’s allowed us to take on new time periods and settings that we didn’t have room for before. It’s also great news for writers because we need double the amount of books than we did before.

So I’m here today to get the word out. If you’ve got a historical romance novel you’ve been dying to write, we’d love to see it. While some publishers are cutting back, we’re actively looking for both published and unpublished historical romance authors to join the ranks. We’re open to any setting or any time period prior to World War II. I especially enjoy out of the ordinary stories and settings. When I read the first chapter of Lacy Williams’ Marrying Miss Marshal in the Genesis contest and saw that the heroine was a town marshal in the Old West, I was hooked. It offered an unusual story with a woman in a unique job, and we’re happy to have it in the lineup. Some of my colleagues have bought books with female pilots in the war, missionaries in Africa and even a French Revolution story. And we still love the classics such as Westerns and Regencies, as well.

Submitting is easy. Check out our guidelines at http://www.harlequin.com/articlepage.html?articleId=1186&chapter=0 , and send something my way at 233 Broadway, Ste. 1001 NY, NY 10279. Or have your agent email me your submission. For published authors, we only require a proposal (synopsis and three chapters). For unpublished authors, we ask that you submit a query or proposal, but have a full manuscript ready to send in should we request it. If you have any questions at all about writing for Love Inspired Historical, feel free to ask. If you miss me today, you can also find me on Twitter @EmilyRodmell or on the Harlequin message boards, where I regularly answer questions: http://community.harlequin.com/forums/love-inspired/editors-corner-chat-emily-rodmell .

Drenched in Story

2011-10-06T09:02:00.003-04:00

We've talked before about what gets us in the mood to write, whether it be grabbing our two pound bag of M&Ms, mocha, or taking a walk in the woods, we do what we have to do to get our muse going.

Here's what I want to know. When you are writing a story, what do you do to get IN the story? For instance, I'm writing a story set in Vermont in December. So I'm listening to Christmas music (ha! you KNEW I'd fit that in), looking at winter scenes every day before I write, and chewing on ice chips. This all makes me cold--and makes me feel like I'm in Vermont in December. (By the way, this is an older picture of my grandson, but his festive cheer helps me with my story.) :-)

So how about you? Do you do anything to get yourself inside the story so you can see what your heroine sees, smells, touches, hears, tastes? Maybe you listen to music of that timeframe. Look at pictures in your setting. Grab your heroine's favorite coffee and enjoy with her?

Come on, share! It's fun!

Writing through Life

2011-10-05T13:24:00.002-04:00

This is writing week, and as such I'm supposed to talk about writing. But I'm going to warn you. I have a massive migraine today. Starbucks is closed. My kids are off of school for a nearby shooting, and we're on lockdown in the house while they search for the suspect. So my brain is not exactly writing-related.

But that's my point. There is NEVER a good time to write. I hear all the time about how people are going to someday write a book. That's not how it happens. You just write. There will never be a good time to write a book. Ever. It's never convenient to sit down in front of a computer and start typing your story. Something will always come up. Other people's priorities will always try to take over. (Especially if you're a parent!)

I took the week off to finish my book so that I could work "free and clear" without the voices in my head. But naturally, the Enemy of writing comes against me. It may be Supernatural. It may just be annoying, but the point is, you have to sit down and do it. No one can write the book for you. No one gets to be called an "author" by saying someday they'll write a book. Sit down and do it.

If I can do it, ANYONE can do it. And I mean that. I'm a single mother during the week. I have four kids, two with special issues...there are four soccer teams between them, three schools, lots of homework, dance class, DMV visits and doctor/dentist/orthodontist trips. Get busy. You could have written three hundred words by now!