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Children are like wet cement; whatever falls on them leaves an impression. ~Haim Ginott

My best friend Ronda (whom I’ve known since elementary school, so we’ve passed the fifty-year mark) lives in Japan now. Since time zones are WILDLY different between the US and Japan, we have a standing phone-date on Friday or Saturday night (which is Saturday or Sunday morning for her). This week’s two-hour chat meandered for a while but ended—unsurprisingly—on books.

We’re both avid readers, though she tends toward classics like Agatha Christie and Sir Conan Doyle (the Sherlock Holmes guy). Last night’s convo landed on our fave books from childhood to now.

I love reading books, talking about books, writing books, and thinking about books. So, after we hung up at 12:30 a.m., I spent the next thirty minutes lying in the dark next to my snoring husband, drawing to mind my most memorable reads from childhood. And here they are, in no particular order.

Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Actually, the entire eight-book set qualifies, but fewer people will recognize the title of book one, Little House in the Big Woods. My mom bought them, neatly packaged in a yellow cardboard display box (which I still have), and read a chapter or two each night before bedtime to me and my two brothers. We gathered in my room to read, which I didn’t love, especially in the summer, because everyone’s bums sitting on my bed made my mattress hot.

But I digress. I was eight or nine, and learning about Laura’s pioneer life fascinated me. Bits that stuck with me (I’m now in my sixties) were that Ma hung wet washing out to “dry” during the winter, and the clothes froze. She brought them indoors and propped them next to the fire to thaw. So, weren’t they wet all over again? Also, Laura getting an orange in her Christmas stocking was a very big deal. I, on the other hand, thumbed through the Sears & Roebuck catalog in a mania of greed, circling everything I wanted from Santa. And Mr. Edwards found them in the Big Woods (how?), showing up just in time for Christmas. Our next-door neighbor was Mr. Edwards, a big, jolly man who smoked a pipe, and whom I dearly loved. So I had a little connection with Laura.

Harriet the Spy, by Louise Fitzhugh. I think I was in third or fourth grade when I read this book. It influenced me so much my best friend, Kim, and her little sister, Leigh, and I bought these little round notepads from the local five-and-dime store, Motts, and began writing notes about things and people, just like Harriet did in her notebooks. We even crept around a neighbor’s house and peeked through their kitchen window to spy, just like Harriet did. I have no idea what we’d have given as a reason had they caught us. So if you’d like to encourage your daughter or granddaughter to embrace a life of crime, I can highly recommend this book to launch her new career.

And I actually knew what a dumbwaiter was (something Harriet used to spy) because I’d read 101 Dalmatians, by Dodie Smith. Again, I read this somewhere between third and fifth grade. I can see myself lying on my stomach on the sea-foam green shag carpet on my bedroom floor, summer sun streaming in through my window, reading one book after another throughout the glorious, seemingly never-ending freedom-filled months of school break.

101 Dalmatians, set in London, confused little Texan me. When they described living in a flat, I struggled to picture what that house must look like. Were the ceilings extremely low? And who were Nanny Cook and Nanny Butler? What’s a nanny, anyway? Didn’t know, but I figured it out. And I just couldn’t understand why Mr. and Mrs. Dearly didn’t pick up on what Pongo and Missis tried to communicate, telling them of their plans to go to Suffolk to find their kidnapped puppies. I mean, what reasonable person wouldn’t hear “Wuff, wuff, wuffolk” and pick up on that? Sheesh. And, of course, that book taught me what a dumbwaiter is. (Authors, don’t be afraid to use “big” words. Readers don’t mind, and may appreciate the vocabulary lesson.)

My first foray into sci-fi was The Tripods Trilogy, by John Christopher. The first book (written in 1967) was The White Mountains. Teenager Will escapes from being “capped,” a procedure where alien-controlled machines (Tripods) place a metal cap on kids’ heads, removing their curiosity and free will. Will runs away to the White Mountains, where a resistance is forming. To this day (fifty+ years later), I cannot see a water tower without wondering if that is what inspired John Christopher’s imagination to create the Tripods.

Of course, we have to include stories with talking animals. Three stand out. First is The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame, another one read to us by my mom (bless her for teaching me to love books). When the advent of spring urges timid, little Mole to emerge from his burrow, he meets the adventurous Rat, and wonderful adventures ensue. I was confused, as a child, how Toad managed to buy a car (though his driving one didn’t give me pause). I’m not a creative artist (as in, come up with stuff on my own), but I can copy pictures. WITW inspired me to draw my own version of Mole and Rat, which I still have hanging in my laundry room, along with all the other artwork done by my kids.

Next comes Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, by Robert O’Brien. Every time I see a tractor plowing a field to prepare for spring planting, I wonder if a little rodent family awaits their fate, trembling and afraid, unable to escape danger because a sick little mouse languishes in bed, unable to move due to fever and weakness. And, of course, I cheered on the scientifically altered rats when they made their escape from the horrific labs. An animal activist was born on that day.

Last is Watership Down, by Richard Adams. Originally published in 1972, it became a classic (still sits at number 14 in Amazon’s Teen & Young Adult Classic Literature category). One might not expect a story about rabbits to be so exciting, but it was. The word tharn now exists in my head permanently, to describe being frozen in fear, which happens the first time Fiver faces an oncoming car that thunders past, headlights blazing, in the dark of night. Richard Adams wrote another book with an animal character—a giant bear—called Shardik, and Stephen King referenced the bear in one of his Gunslinger series novels (one of my favorites as an adult). How cool would that be?

ChatGPT came to the rescue in my conversation last night with Ronda. I struggled to remember the title of a book about a boy named Alan who was the lone survivor of a plane crash in the wilderness of Canada during winter. He stumbles across a small cabin in the woods where a grizzled old man lives. The man takes care of and feeds several wild animals who have grown to trust him. Alan almost wrecks the whole thing when he arrives, but he learns from the man, and grows in self-reliance and unselfishness. I typed in what I could remember, and ChatGPT gave me the title. Canyon Winter, by Walt Morey. Ten-year-old me had my animal activism renewed.

ChatGPT did let me down on this one. I’ve been searching for the title of this book for ages. See if you know it. There are four (I think) animals that are somehow special. Like, maybe altered-in-a-science-lab special, but I’m not positive about that. They’re all mentally connected, can hear each other’s thoughts or feel each other’s feelings (I think). One is a raven (or crow), one is a raccoon, and maybe one is an owl, but I can’t remember. I think they escape (or maybe they’ve always been wild), but they’re all very intelligent. The raccoon starts to get lazy and instead of relying on his skills as a raccoon to hunt for food, he starts raiding trash dumpsters, and he gets fat and lazy. The others are afraid he’ll be trapped and captured, or even killed. Oh, and I think they each have a white spot on their fur, sort of a sign that unites them. Every time I search, I get Rascal, The Plague Dogs, or the like. Did you ever read this book?

I could go on forever about books that live rent-free in my head. What is your favorite from childhood? (And I know Lena Nelson Dooley will tell me this post is way too long and no one will read the whole thing, but who actually gets tired of talking about books?)

I’m at a crossroads about what to do with my future as an author, and the answers I get this summer will show me which path to take. I have three historical romance novels published by Elk Lake Publishing, owned by Deb Haggerty, who I love and respect. She got me started, and I’ll always be grateful for that.

But a small press has limited funds for marketing, and I’m to the point now where I think I can do for myself (with the exception of creating a book cover) everything ELPI does. If I go indie, I’ll have control over my books—when to put them on sale, whether to give away eBooks for free to gain new readers, and on my KDP dashboard, I can see the instant results of ads I run which helps me gauge their effectiveness, and act accordingly.

But if I get an agent, I could possibly be published in one of the large five Christian publishers (Thomas Nelson of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Zondervan [also an imprint of HarperCollins], Tyndale House Publishers, and Baker Publishing which includes Bethany House and Revell). The large houses have access to brick-and-mortar stores like Barnes & Noble, Walmart, and Target. I don’t have an agent, so those doors are (mostly) closed to me.

However, last weekend, I had a pitch appointment with an acquisitions editor at Bethany House. I pitched my latest novel, a contemporary romance about an aging rock star called Made for More, and she asked for a proposal. If she accepts it, I’ll be in at Bethany House, bypassing the need for an agent. So I could take the left branch of the Y in the road.

If she doesn’t want the story, I also have an appointment this coming Saturday with an agent. If she decides to represent me, we would begin the long process of shopping the book to publishers. She represents the right fork of the Y in the road.

If neither pans out, that shows me the exit ramp which leads to self-publishing. I CANNOT decide which I want, so my prayer is this: These two appointments are my fleece. Like Gideon in the Book of Judges, I’m laying out my fleece and asking God to show me which way to go. If He plans for me to be in the top five, then either of those forks in the road will take me there. If He doesn’t, then I’ll self-publish Made for More. I’m good with either, just need to know which direction to take. So stay tuned!

I went to the ACFW Colorado Springs Writers in the Springs conference last weekend. Angela Hunt was our teacher for the entire weekend. She is a gold mine of knowledge. One thing I learned was about character growth. In the beginning, your character must have a problem. Something that holds her back. She also has to have a hidden need, one she is probably unconscious of in the beginning. By the end of the book, the main character must be doing something she couldn’t do at the beginning. This shows her character arc. The reader wants to see that growth to feel satisfied at the end of the story.

Angela Hunt wrote a small craft book called The Plot Skeleton that helps you lay out the bones of your story. If you start your story with the problem/hidden need and know what she’ll be able to accomplish at the end, that helps you fill the blank spots in between that will take her along her journey. Check out The Plot Skeleton and see if it helps you stay on track with your story.

What has been the most influential book on the craft of writing for you? All who respond will be entered into a drawing for one of Angela’s craft books. Good luck!

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This is why we can’t have nice things.

Twice now, I’ve been an American on vacation in a foreign country, and I’ve gotten tickled to the point of uncontrollable laughter … over something ridiculously uncouth.

Not repping my country well, to say the least.

Every country has its own customs. Many of the unfamiliar ways of those “fawr-uh-ners” turn out to be quite nice.

For example, in Japan, when you ride the subway or train, it’s quiet. If people have their phones out, they’re wearing headphones so as to not inflict their noise on their fellow travelers. If two people want to talk, they hold their heads close together and their voices are low.

I got so used to this unexpected pleasure that on one trip, when a man struggled to open a snack item wrapped in plastic, the extended crinkling sound filling the car as he fought with it irked me so badly, I had to restrain myself from leaping out of my seat and snatching it from his hands.

But one evening, riding the subway back to my friend Ronda’s house, I began a story, telling it in halting segments, layering on each humorous antic one at a time. Think of the famous Carol Burnett show skit where Tim Conway tells the story about the Siamese twin elephants.

It was the classic “don’t laugh in church” scenario, only it was “don’t laugh on the Japanese subway.”

I hadn’t intended to draw the story out that way, but when Ronda started snuffling, her laughter egged me on. The tale came out one bit at a time, until both of us were hee-hawing so hard, tears streamed down our faces. While telling the story, I spoke so low my husband, who stood holding on to a pole across the aisle from us, had no idea why we were cracking up, but we couldn’t contain the sound of our hilarity. Finally, Ronda gasped, “No more. No more.”

People shot dark looks our way, which only made things worse. We, quite obviously, were not Japanese. I wonder what they thought of us.

A second time happened in France. My husband and I accompanied five family members to St. Gervais for a winter trip to see Mont Blanc. One special event was a visit to a thermal spa called Les Thermes. The inside walls were painted black or charcoal, all dark and quiet, with small LED lights creating displays on tables and recessed lighting gleaming down from black ceilings.

Very mindful. Very demure.

Everyone there seemed to know exactly what to do and where to go next. We stumbled around like country bumpkins. After soaking in a warm communal bath, we moved to a heated, tiled, bleacher-type area where people reclined, silently soaking in the heat. After a few moments of that, we were like, “Hmm. What’s next?” So we followed some folks into the sauna area. The slippers piled up at the door gave us the hint we were to enter barefoot. They even provided a wooden rack to hold your glasses. Ooh, la, la. Every detail considered. Every solution provided.

We entered the sauna. I blinked, attempting to focus through the steam wafting in the air like our own personal cloud. A couple sat on one side, the woman lying with her head in her partner’s lap. Another man leaned against the wall opposite them. The three of us moved to the far wall to take a seat.

There was a perfect combination of conditions: steamy, hot air practically dripping with condensation; our wet skin; and soggy seats of our bathing suits, freshly drenched from our recent dip in the warm bath. Put them all together, and we each—one after the other, three in a row—created the perfect fart noise when we plopped onto the tiled bench lining the wall.

We gave each other wide-eyed looks and bit back our laughter. This wasn’t a laughing atmosphere. Shhh. Enjoy the relaxation.

The instructions said to sit in the steam for five minutes, then step outside of the room to use the showers to rinse. Step back in and repeat two more times.

Forewarned by experience about the farting phenomenon, we each tried different techniques when we resumed our seats. Lower yourself onto your right hip and roll your buttocks on the bench. Perch your tailbone on the very edge and slide back. Sit with your legs slightly wide to avoid creating the “bowl” shape formed by thighs and buttocks. We had varying levels of success. Giggles threatened.

Then a fourth member of our family joined us. Yanked the door open, letting in a swirl of cool(er) air, stumbled through the foggy air, then plopped straight down. BRAAAP.

Maybe if it’d happened to only one of us, we’d have been able to contain ourselves. But all four of us were caught by the noise. None of the French people seemed plagued by loutish behavior. One of us giggled, then two, then it was Katy, bar the door.

Y’all, the lady lying with her head in her partner’s lap got up, and they left. Not because they were done. No. They went into the other sauna. Right in front of us. Didn’t even try to hide it. We laughed even harder.

In Texas, people are friendly. We smile at each other in our stores, we do the one-finger salute when we pass each other on the road (pointer finger, just to be clear), and we chat with strangers while we wait in line. We touch when we talk. We hug when we leave. I feel like my life is spent in a happy, pleasant, humor-filled way.

Not so mindful. Not that demure. But fun.

I’m sorry we disturbed the couple in the sauna. I thought of them when we moved to the outside pools (which were heated, but uncovered in the outdoor, 32° weather). I could envision one of us running, leaping into the water doing a cannonball, yelling “Yeehaw!” (We didn’t do that, but the thought crossed my mind.) I’m sure they find humor in other places in their lives. But I enjoy laughing. And laughter comes easily to me.

Jesus told us in the book of John, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” I bet Jesus laughed a lot. I think he would’ve been fun to hang out with.

Look for ways to have fun, to enjoy each other, to relax with laughter.

That night in our AirBnB, we pulled out an original version of Trivial Pursuit we found on a shelf. I lifted the lid and wiggled it to get it off, and as it slid away, the perfect fart noise came out. BRAAP. We laughed all over again, so hard and so long that my sides ached. I swear it added five years to my life.

However you do it, spend your life with humor and fun. As my friend Greg Kata on TikTok says, “Find your joy.”

I finished my contemporary rockstar romance. Now I stand at a crossroads. Do I try to get an agent who will help me get into one of the largest “Big Five” publishing houses or do I go indie, and publish everything myself? Getting into the big houses requires an agent, which I don’t have. So I’m doing my version of Gideon’s fleece test in the Bible. I’ve picked three agents. Between now and April 12, I’ll see if any of the three are interested in representing me. If one offers to sign me, I’ll see how the traditional route goes. If none do, beginning April 13, I’m taking the steps to self-publish. I know how to format books and I’m very familiar with uploading to KDP. All I’ll need is a friend to give one last edit to the manuscript, and to find a book cover designer. So, I’m waiting on God to send me my sign. And I’m fine with whichever way he sends me. So stay tuned to see what happens with Made for More.

If you’ve decided to go the indie route, or perhaps you’re preparing a novella or short story as a lead magnet, you’ll need to know how to format your book. A friend recently asked me how to set up her margins to change her manuscript from the typical page size in Word to a smaller 6 x 9 for publishing. Here is a short video explaining how that works.

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Hate coming up with goals? They’re like taking vitamins – good for you.

When I retired after nineteen years of teaching high school geometry, I had wonderful ideas for projects I’d tackle and creative things I would learn how to do.

My list included the following:

Bake bread every week (or as often as necessary).

Ha, ha – not my bread, in case you were thinking I made that.

Crochet. (I don’t know how to do this.)

Paint. (I don’t know how to do this either.)

Read a new craft book about writing each month.

Create websites. (Another thing I don’t know about.)

Read the Bible all the way through.

Do every cross-stitch project I’ve bought. (I’m not going to count these. Suffice it to say, they would keep me busy for a while.)

My Christmas present . . . from 2023. I’m working on it! Great art takes time.

Learn Spanish. (Working on this one. Just passed my three-year mark of consecutive days on Duolingo.)

Keep a really clean house. (Don’t ask.)

Befriend a crow so it will bring me gifts or eat out of my hand.

Refinish furniture I picked up from the curb. (I started this if one, if picking up the trash from people’s curbs counts as starting.)

Create a Hobbit-like house from the tree stump in my backyard using power tools. (Tools that I don’t know how to use.)

Eat lunch with one grandkid once a week.

Read every unread book in my house. And don’t buy new ones until that’s done. (Bwaa-ha-ha-ha-ha.)

Go through every cabinet in my house and get rid of what isn’t being used.

I’m sure there are more. Did I do those things? A few. Do I still want to do those things? Yes. So why don’t I?

It comes down to time management. Looking at my life now, I wonder how I ever got ANYTHING done when I worked as a teacher. I had no free time. Now that is all I have. So where do those precious moments go?

A friend of mine, Joy Massenburge (joykmassenburge.com), taught me a neat trick. She gave me five minutes to write a bucket list. Then she told me to pretend I had only a year to live and asked me which three items from the list became most important. Once I’d identified those, I had to run each new project I considered—the next shiny thing that caught my eye—past that list of three. If the new thing didn’t apply in some way to one of those three things, push it to the side for now. And learn to say no.

Next, does this goal fit in with your God-directed plans? Solomon told us in Psalm 127, ”Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain.” That tells me I’ll waste my time if I get off track. Does that mean everything we do in our lives must be religious and preachy? I don’t think so. Jesus tells us in John 10 he came so we may have life, AND that we may have it more abundantly. I bet Jesus was fun to hang out with. And he could probably teach me a thing or two about refinishing the furniture I scavenge from my neighbor’s trash.

For the things that did pass the I’m-about-to-die test, Joy told me to set a goal to accomplish it. You’ve all heard of SMART goals. Specific, measurable, attainable, relevant, time-based.

My goal today is to sit down and make goals for 2025. I have a lot of meaningful things I want to do. But I also want to leave room for fun.

Like making friends with a crow so he’ll bring me shiny gifts. That takes time too.

What’s on your list? If you accomplished something that made you feel really good about yourself, let me know. I want to celebrate with you.

I have many things on my list of goals in 2025, and of course, writing makes up a huge part of that. One goal is to publish the contemporary romance I just finished. The title is Made for More, and it’s a story about a rock star who feels like something is missing in his life. I plan to send it off to an agent before the end of January. If he turns me down, I have a second agent in mind. If she says no thanks, I’ll publish it myself. Because, in all that free time since retiring, self-publishing is something I’ve learned how to do.

Created by AI – you can tell by the wonky fingers

My second writing goal is to write a romantic suspense for the first time. At one of our ACFW meetings, we did an activity where we chose three random tropes from a list. Mine were cowboy, fish-out-of-water, and age difference. We got five minutes to come up with a tentative plot. My idea involves a lady lawyer, an ex-Army sergeant who now works on a cattle ranch in south Texas, and a threat from a Mexican cartel member. Have I ever written a suspense novel? Nope. Am I letting that stop me? Nope.

The third goal is to finish the research I started for book four in my historical San Antonio series. This one will tell Grady’s story, and it involves Comanches, Texas Rangers, and finding Jesus when you have no one to teach you about him. Title is Pursued. Surprises abound! I’m 99% sure you’ll learn something you didn’t already know. I can’t wait to get this one done.

People tell us we get one page, possibly even one paragraph, to snag a new reader’s attention and convince them our book is exactly what they need. Supposing this is true, we need to write a killer first line. I watched this video from Reedsy – (they put out great information for writers, by the way), and they boil the first line particulars down to this.

  • Introduce the main character by name (first and last if possible).
  • Give a sense of immediacy (don’t start with “Ten years ago …)
  • Hint at the coming conflict (why should the reader care to finish the book?)

Spend some time on this. It will be effort well invested.

One last note: A critique member got a discouraging response last week. She’d read a touching (true) story about a man and she crafted a charming story in verse celebrating his life. She approached the family of the man to get their permission to publish it. Much to her shock and dismay, the response she received was negative, and in my opinion, unnecessarily cruel. My friend told us, in tears, she didn’t want to write anymore. She felt unappreciated, unneeded, and unworthy of the task. We reminded her God gave her the talent and ideas to share his love through her work, and to not let the enemy steal that from her. If you’ve experienced something like this, remember God picked YOU to write the story he put in your mind. There is a particular problem in this world that you were put here to solve. Don’t let the enemy take that away from you. Write out your publishing goals for 2025. I’m behind you all the way!

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Did you ever know that you’re my hero?

Have you ever been given a chance to be a hero? Where you stepped up and saved someone, even at risk to yourself?

I got to be a hero to my dog once.

His name is Buddy. We got him from the animal shelter when he was about three months old.

We live out in the country, and our house sits on an acre. My husband constructed our fence using green plastic-coated wire and wooden posts. The wire forms squares about three inches tall by two inches wide.

The neighbors behind us foster dogs, so they usually have seven or eight, ranging in size from 100 pounds to little yippy dogs. When they’re all outside, Buddy and the three big dogs would run up and down the fence, barking at each other. I thought they were playing.

I was wrong.

The biggest one, Cash, was dark brown with long, shaggy hair. He looked like a cross between a Chow and a German Shepard. Cash really got into the racing game.

One day I was working beside the fence and saw the row of the wire that matched Cash’s height was bowed in, toward our house. I could see when Cash barked at Buddy, he was pushing his face against the fence, poking his nose through the squares hard enough to stretch the wires into a curve. I had the disquieting realization that Cash wanted to get at Buddy. From then on, I would often stop the run-up-and-down-the-fence game and bring Buddy inside.

When I write, I sit at my kitchen table. There is a window to my left that looks out into the backyard. One morning, the dogs began barking, doing their “game.” I was in the groove with my writing and didn’t want to stop. At some point, the tenor of the noise changed and got very intense. I looked outside to see what they were doing. All the dogs were bunched up at one spot, not running.

I walked outside to see what was so interesting.

To my horror, I realized Cash had pushed his face through the wires so many times he’d managed to break some. His mouth had a grip on Buddy’s head, and he was yanking, over and over, pulling Buddy through the fence into his yard. The other six dogs behind him were in a frenzy, egging him on, down to the little Yorkie with a bow in her hair.

I was home alone. What to do? Cash was in a blood lust. He was not letting go. I couldn’t prise his jaws from Buddy’s head. I couldn’t pull Buddy away from him. Helpless to stop him, I almost panicked.

Instead, I prayed.

The idea came to me to poke Cash in the eye. So I stabbed his eye with my thumb.

He loosened his grip and pulled away, but didn’t let go.

I stabbed him again. Would he transfer his attention from Buddy to me, biting my hand? I didn’t care. I had to do something.

This time, he let go and backed off. I fully expected Buddy’s skin to be scalped from his head, but he had only a small laceration behind his ear. He trembled, traumatized. I took him inside.

We talked to our neighbors (who were home at the time) and explained what had happened. If I hadn’t been there, I truly believe Cash wouldn’t have stopped until he had Buddy’s head pulled far enough through the fence that he could kill him. I showed the neighbor how Cash had been slowly destroying the wire fencing. That night, they nailed plywood along the bottom of the posts, creating a barrier. The next day, they had a company come out and install six-foot tall stockade panels across the backyard (at no small expense, I’m sure).

I did what I had to do to save Buddy because I love him. God did infinitely more for us. He didn’t risk a bite to his hand. He gave up his son. What a blessing we’ve been given to be called God’s children. I’m so grateful for his love.

Share your stories. When did you snatch a chance to wear a Superman cape?

As we move into the season where we celebrate the birth of Jesus, you may find yourself wondering what gift to buy for someone. Here’s your chance to win some books. You can enter this contest to win all twenty-six eBooks, plus a few paperbacks as a bonus. I’m offering book one in my San Antonio series, Protected, as an eBook and a paperback. Reviewers have described it as “a great read with stellar writing.” Readers appreciate the interesting characters, especially the strong Christian female character, Abby.

Simply enter your email to be put into the running.

https://authorsxp.com/giveaway

I follow author Randy Ingermanson. He always has great stuff for writers, and I highly recommend you sign up for his newsletter. Recently, he sent out a post about a one-sentence summary. Here is a link to his page if you want to read the whole thing: https://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/blog/2024/11/24/your-one-sentence-summary/

Basically, he explains how to write that hook or tagline that grabs your reader’s attention. To do so, include most (or all, if you can do it in 25 words or fewer) of these pieces of information.

  1. Time or place information to establish the setting.
  2. A paradoxical description of a major character.
  3. A surprising event that suggests the Story Question.
  4. At least one emotive “kicker” word.

My example for Protected: An 18-year-old girl must assume leadership of a wagon train across Texas, disguised as a boy.

Mention of the wagon train sets the time in the past. The surprising event is that Abby must assume leadership of the train. Hopefully, the reader instantly wonders, “Why? What happened? I must read on to find out.” And the paradoxical description is that she is disguised as a boy. Again, why?

Try this with your books. Add it as a first line in your book description on Amazon. Include it on your book cover’s back blurb.

Merry Christmas to you all. I hope everyone spends time with loved ones. But most of all, know God loves you better than we could ever love ourselves.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16 KJV).

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Does time feel weird to you too?

Americans are experiencing a wide range of emotions these days. Seems more people than ever are angry or scared. Either we’re losing our rights, or the world is about to end because of climate change or war, or the rich people are taking over and we’re about to be living the real-life version of the movie Elysium.

Earth in poverty, from the movie Elysium, 2013

These times make it feel sort of silly to worry about a Christmas list, or what cool things to put in your kids’ stockings. After all, if Russia is about to bomb everyone with a nuclear warhead, or a Category Five hurricane will wipe away your home, why not save yourself the trouble?

But we can’t live that way, can we?

God has been dealing with our fears for a long time, and he provides words of comfort.

Psalm 27:1
“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

Isaiah 41:10
“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Romans 8:28
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

Are things crazy right now? Yeah, they kinda are. Will life as we know it change? Maybe.

But besides God giving us a spirit of power, love, and self-control, rather than fear, he also gave us ingenuity. Kindness. The willingness to stand up for what is right.

We’ll figure things out.

Mr. Rogers’ mother told him this when he was young and the news scared him: “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

So go ahead and buy your Christmas gifts. Wrap them and put them under the tree. Live your life abundantly, as God planned for you to live.

And if you can reduce your worst problem to deciding what to get for that one hard-to-buy-for family member, let me help you out.

Reading relaxes us and is a form of self-care. When we read, we immerse ourselves in another world and forget the troubles in our own. When we see our favorite characters figuring out how to solve their problems, it helps us believe we can solve ours too.

My San Antonio series will drop you into the 1860s with a group of kids trying to make it across the Texas plains alone. God helps them, just like he helps us. Live in Abby’s world for a while and leave your worries behind.

Winner of the 2022 Global Book Gold Award

The eBook is on sale for $1.99 until December 4. Grab a copy for yourself or for the readers on your Christmas list. Make a set of it by including A Father’s Gift, and Accepted. Check out the first few pages in the “Look Inside” feature of Amazon to see if it’s your cup of tea. Find it here: https://tinyurl.com/Peckham1Protected

Gifts–both giving and receiving–make us feel loved. What’s the best gift you’ve ever received? Share in the comments. I’ll choose one winner and send you a copy of one of my books. Take care of one thing on your to-do list.

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Want to see who won the copy of Nancy Lavo’s book?

Thank you all for commenting on the post about your latest book purchase. I love hearing about what other people like to read. Now I’ve got a whole new list of books to buy.

I entered everyone’s name into my “Wheel of Names” and clicked to spin. Congratulations to Susan Horvath! I’ll be in touch to get your address, then I’ll pop a copy of Nancy’s book, The Perfect Getaway, in the mail to you.

Thanks again everyone. See you soon.

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Happy birthday to Book Three in the San Antonio series! Want to celebrate with me?

Quenby and Jonathan have been causing their readers’ hearts to beat harder for the past 365 days. Enough to place third in the 2023 Selah Award contest and earn a gold in the 2023 BookFest Award. Take advantage of this sale to grab a copy for yourself.

And if you like what you read, go back for seconds with Protected and A Father’s Gift. They’re available as a paperback, eBook, or audiobook.

First six to respond showing their Amazon order for Accepted will receive a free audiobook download code (three for Protected and three for A Father’s Gift). Just in time for you to take care of some Christmas shopping.

Click the buy link here: https://tinyurl.com/44cb9adc

Enjoy!

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Who loves to read?

I love to read, and new books excite me the way getting a new puppy excites some people. (Actually, new puppies excite me too, but I don’t bring them home as often.)

I made a vow to myself in January this year NOT to buy a new book until I’d read all the unread copies I already own. Yeah, that didn’t work out so well. Here are my most recent acquisitions. To be fair, some were given to me (and I accepted in the name of research – I’m considering writing a book to submit to Love Inspired), the big on one the bottom is one I use for my editing jobs, but some I got just ’cause I wanted them.

But it’s really exciting when a new book comes out that was written by a friend. I want to share two of those with you today.

The first comes from Jodie Wolfe. Her tagline: Stories Where Hope and Quirky Meet. Well, I’m always up for quirky. Her most recent came out a little earlier this year, titled Convincing Lou. It’s a western (checkmark for me), the female MC disguises herself as a man (checkmark for me), and it’s romance (double checkmark for me).

Ellie Lou Williams will do just about anything to save her ranch, even going undercover as a man to round up a fella who is late to his own wedding. The reward will more than cover the money she owes the bank and solve all her problems.

Caleb Dawson agrees to one final job as a deputy U.S. Marshal before he starts his new life away from the trail and tracking criminals. What he isn’t counting on is a mysterious bounty hunter who’s determined to undermine his every step.

Will one reach their goal first? Or will they learn to lean on God and work together?

Check it out! You may find a new favorite author.

The second book I want to share with you was written by Nancy Lavo. This is Book Three in her Lone Star Loves series. Nancy writes with a sweet sense of humor and a gentle touch of God. These stories (which can be read as stand-alones, so don’t worry about starting with book three) are set in a fictional small town called Village Green. This book, The Perfect Getaway, stars Riley, a spunky elementary teacher who’s hiding a secret, and Sam, the hunky police officer in town whose antenna is twitching because he KNOWS Riley’s hiding something. The kids in the classroom offer plenty of humorous moments, but the conversation between the two main characters will have you chuckling. Nancy’s book won the coveted #1 New Release banner on Amazon on launch day.

Book blurb: First-grade teacher Riley Vreeland is terrified. When the attention from a recent acquaintance escalates from creepy to threatening, she flees to Village Green. With its limited employment, housing, and amenities, the tiny town is the last place someone would choose to settle. And hopefully it’s the last place her stalker will look.

Serving and protecting the people of Village Green is hard-wired into police officer Sam Walker’s DNA. The new teacher’s fearful response to him and his offer to help sets his suspicions on high alert. What is she hiding? He’s determined to find out.

After Sam delivers a stray dog to her, Riley softens toward the nosy cop. It’s hard to hate the man who supplied her with her four-footed best friend. And his rapport with her first graders is heartwarming. Riley is tired of looking over her shoulder. Can she trust the small-town superhero with her secret, or will the loyalty she admires in him bring danger to her door?

You can’t go wrong with Nancy’s stuff. She’s a pro at sweet, contemporary, uplifting romance.

What’s the latest new book you brought (or snuck) home? I’ll give away a copy of Nancy’s book to one lucky winner. Comment for a chance to win.

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Set Your Course by the Stars

Summer is vacation time for most people, and we were no different. We took our oldest granddaughter, Amber, to Chicago so she could go to the Lallapalooza music festival and see Laufey and Stray Kids.

I expected the worst (ok, Boomer) and had resigned myself to spending a long, hot day being tortured, but both concerts she wanted to hear pleasantly surprised me.

Laufey played in front of the Chicago Philharmonic Orchestra and walked out onto the stage wearing a frothy gown worthy of Ginger Rogers on a dance floor with Fred Astaire. Her music, according to Amber, is romantic. I agreed. Young girls spread across the grassy field and sang along with Laufey’s tunes. It was a peaceful, sweet hour.

Amber warned us Stray Kids would be different. If you’ve never heard of them, don’t feel bad. I hadn’t either. In fact, I’d never heard of 95% of the groups in the four-day festival. For Stray Kids, think ‘NSYNC, only Korean.

Amber’s description of their music was “loud.” Pshaw. My concert years were in the ’80s. I can do loud. But, unexpectedly, I enjoyed the music and the choreography of the eight young men. Their dance moves gave me Bruno Mars vibes. And though I hardly understood any words (stadium-sized concerts are always very reverb-ery), I had a good time. My favorite band member was Felix (front and center in the pic). I’m a sucker for guys with long hair (as you’ll see in my next book, which features a rock star named Derek, who is moving into his third decade in music.)

The next day, we dragged Amber on an architectural tour of the buildings on the riverwalk. (My husband’s suggestion, not mine.) I was almost as bored with the idea as Amber, but at least it was cooler on the river and we could sit down on the boat. However, this too surprised me by being interesting.

One fact I learned was the meaning of the Chicago flag.

The blue stripes represent the riverbanks, an obvious visual, but the stars caught my attention. Each star stands for an important event in the history of Chicago.

The first star represents Fort Dearborn, which established Chicago’s core. The second star is for the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, supposedly started when Kate O’Leary’s cow kicked over a lantern while being milked in the barn. Star number three is for the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893 (the World’s Fair). Check out Erik Larson’s book, The Devil in the White City, to learn more about that. And number four marks the Century of Progress Exposition of 1933.

My first thought on hearing this set of facts was to wonder what Texas would consider star-worthy. But close on the heels of that was to question what my stars would represent. If I followed Chicago’s example, I would choose events that formed me, established my future, challenged me, and moments of triumph.

Hmm. Choosing my stars was harder than I expected it to be. Being a follower of Jesus has certainly directed my path. The births of my two children did as well. My divorce created a challenge, but graduating from college after seventeen years of chipping away at it was a definite triumph. That led me to becoming a teacher. I remarried, which altered my financial future, allowing me the freedom to become a writer.

What would your stars represent? Have you limited your flag to only four?

I think it’s important to realize these milestones. Be grateful for defining moments. Forge through the challenging ones. Celebrate the triumphs. And keep a space open for one more star.

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Are You Smarter Than the Average Bear?

Let me give you a dose of eighth-grade math PTSD. Who remembers mean, median, and mode, our initial foray into the (horrible, terrible, no good, very bad) world of statistics? If I were to rank all the college classes I’ve taken, Stats would be at the low end of the bottom tier. But, regardless of the scars it might have left on us all, most of us are familiar with finding the mean. (Averaging, in mere mortal speak.) Average is considered the middle of the road, the fifty percent mark. Anything greater than .50 is above average. Everything that falls beneath is below average. Simple enough concept.

Yet, according to a psychology study, sixty-five percent of Americans believe they are above average. [1]

Y’all, the math doesn’t work.

In these days of crippling self-confidence issues, maybe it’s good that we think we’re better than we actually are. Nothing wrong with a positive self-image, right? High self-confidence can give us the boost to try something scary, like hang-gliding, opening a new business, or raising bees.

I wonder why we’re predisposed to think of ourselves so highly. The study didn’t pinpoint the reason why we tend to overestimate ourselves, only that we do.

What I found disturbing was we give ourselves an above-average rating most often when judging ourselves morally. [2]

In other words, I am more likely to believe I am morally superior to those around me than, say, that I am more clever or wise.

Hmm. That caused me to do some serious self-reflection. How would I rank myself, compared to others, in aspects like intelligence, honesty, faithfulness, cleverness, competency, friendliness?

I recently read the novel, Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. (Spoiler alert. I will discuss the ending of the novel.) In the story, the unnamed narrator is a young woman in her twenties who marries a wealthy Englishman in his forties after a whirlwind courtship. (Let’s call her Claire.) Claire grew up poor and was working as a lady’s companion when she met Maxim. She struggles with self-worth throughout the novel, especially when they arrive at Manderly and she learns about the beautiful, composed, socially graceful Rebecca, who died the year prior.

Claire convinces herself Maxim doesn’t truly love her because she believes he has never gotten over losing Rebecca. However, when a boat crashes near their home, the rescue operation discovers the sunken remains of Rebecca’s sailboat, with her decomposing body inside. Since Maxim identified “her” body two months after the accident, he becomes a suspect in Rebecca’s death.

He confesses to Claire that he actually hated Rebecca, who was cold, manipulative, and unfaithful. She goaded Maxim into shooting her, telling him she was pregnant with another man’s child. Maxim killed her, then took her out on the sailboat and scuttled it with her body inside.

When Claire hears Maxim’s confession, she does all she can to clear his name. She travels to London to see the doctor Rebecca visited the day she died and learns Rebecca was not actually pregnant. She had cancer. The doctor told her she had only months to live and would die in agony.

This information is shared with the prosecuting attorney, and when asked, Claire lies for Maxim. Though she knows he shot his wife, she tells them Rebecca was distraught with the news of the diagnosis and killed herself.

Now. Back to the morally superior question. On average, we tend to rank ourselves as “above average” on moral issues. However, if you found yourself in a similar situation, where you could reasonably excuse the bad actions of someone you loved, especially if the truth would ruin not only their life but also yours, would you lie to protect them? If your lie kept your child from going to prison? Your mother from the death penalty?

What would I do? Would I truly be a member of the “above average,” or would I be part of the 15% who thinks I am better, but who is fooling themselves? I hope and pray, should I ever be in this position, I would turn to God and trust in his providence. Regardless of how bad things looked, or how devastating my truth would be, I must hope I could do what the Bible teaches us.

Thou shalt not lie.

I hope I could stick myself close to God, like a grass burr attaches to my sock, and trust his guidance would carry me through whatever heartache might come.

What about you? If you were Claire, would you have handled things differently? If you have a story like Claire’s where God brought you through the fire, share it with us so we can draw strength for our own trials.

[1] https://tinyurl.com/SmarterSurvey

[2] https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5641986/