
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!