Category: Writing

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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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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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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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If music be the food of love, play on. ~William Shakespeare

I spent nineteen years of my life inside a high school math classroom and I overheard many conversations. One of the most interesting topics to eavesdrop on was when the kids played the “Would You Rather?” game. A lot of questions were completely silly, like “Would you rather be Wonder Woman or Captain Marvel?” However, one struck me and all these years later, I still think about that question often.

Would you rather go blind or deaf?

Ooh. That would be a hard one to choose.

On the one hand, if I went blind, I could no longer drive. Driving, and the freedom it brings, would be hard to give up. I would never see the Grand Canyon; or any more beautiful sunsets; the face of Elias, my newest grandchild; or my granddaughters at their weddings.

But if I went deaf, I’d no longer hear music. That would be a huge thing to give up. I love music. The unexpectedness of a subtonic VII shift. Perfect harmonies. The power of a gravely voice that can sing sweet and clear just as well.

My husband and I spent a recent vacation with some of his school friends. Randy and Danny are brothers, both very smart and both very sarcastic. Being around them for a week was to be treated to nonstop comedic routines, perfect timing delivered with deadpan emotion. Side-splittingly funny.

We discussed music one night after supper. Sitting around the table, Danny asked if the music was more important to us, or the words. The construction or the story? Randy fell into the story camp. A lot of country music tells a story.

I’m on Team Music. I can listen to a Josh Groban song where he sings in Italian and not understand a word. But the music draws a story in my imagination. The notes speak to my soul. However, the poetry of a song’s lyrics get to me too. So maybe I’m Team Story after all. Hard to decide.

Randy grew vociferous in his defense of the story side of music. Danny, sitting quite still, got a self-satisfied look on his face. I knew he was about to deliver a bombshell of a wisecrack. He held his hands up, pantomiming playing a jaw harp. He said, “Randy would hear a song with this–” insert the jaw harp playing a single note–choing– “and would say, ‘Yeah! That’s a great song.'”

We laughed until tears streamed down our faces, but I’ve thought of that conversation a lot. What team would you be on? Are you moved by the notes or by the words? What is the one song in the world that always elicits an emotional response for you?

I like to write my books with music playing in the background. The sound of the songs sets a mood for me. I have playlists that I use for different scenes. Sad scenes. Love scenes. Angry scenes. What are your go-to songs? I may add them to my lists. If you want me to share my playlists, just comment at the end and I’ll send you my Spotify links.

When I wrote A Father’s Gift, I played songs that sounded sad or poignant. Manny, the main character, lost his father when he was a young boy. Now, with the birth of his first child impending, thoughts of his dad consume him. What could his father have taught him, had he been around? What advice would he share? Manny goes on a quest to find answers about what really happened that fateful day so many years ago. But his questions stir up sleeping dogs that certain people would rather let lie.

This novella eBook is currently on sale for $0.99. Quick and easy to send as a digital gift. Check it out while the sale lasts.

https://tinyurl.com/2xnz3cjd

Here is one of my favorite songs about the season. I hope you enjoy it. And I pray you have a blessed and merry Christmas.

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The most important thing people did for me was to expose me to new things. Temple Grandin

If you’re like most people, you tend to cross the road when you see change coming. We enjoy the comfort of doing / being / experiencing things we know.

But I like to mix things up every now and then. One easy thing to try is reading something written by an author I’ve never experienced. Being a writer means I have an unending supply of new material to sample. I enjoy supporting my fellow authors by purchasing their books, encouraging their efforts, and sharing the news of their accomplishments.

Today, I want to introduce you to Jodie Wolfe. Jodie’s tagline is “Where Hope and Quirky Meet.” If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about how Jodie writes, then see for yourself. She is doing a guest post for me today, so friends, meet Jodie!

Peace and God’s Creation – by Jodie Wolf

Every fall I look forward to going to the mountains behind our home to hike and enjoy the beauty of God’s Creation and the beautiful colors He has on display. Last year, my husband and I discovered a reservoir in the middle of the mountain. Even though we’ve lived in the area for over thirty years, we hadn’t heard about it. At the time, we couldn’t walk around much because I was in a surgical boot after having foot surgery a few months before.

This year, I couldn’t wait for the leaves to change on the mountain so we could go explore. I packed a picnic supper, and we left as soon as my husband got home from work. For the most part, we had the lake and the incredible view all to ourselves. As we sat down to our meal after hiking on one of the trails, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of God’s Creation. His peace flooded my soul. I couldn’t help but feel the trees were singing for joy with their colors on full display. It reminded me of this verse from Psalm 96:12 (NIV).

Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing forest sing for joy.

As we left the area and started our drive home, my heart was at peace—His peace.

Peace is something my character in my new book, Wooing Gertrude, struggles with. Here’s a peek at the back cover blurb:

Enoch Valentine has given up finding peace for his past mistakes. He throws everything he has into being the new part-time deputy in Burrton Springs, Kansas, while maintaining the foreman position at a local horse ranch. But when trouble stirs on the ranch, he questions whether he’s the right man for either job.

Peace has been elusive for most of Gertrude Miller’s life, especially under the oppressiveness of an overbearing mother. She takes matters into her own hands and sends for a potential husband, while also opening her own dress shop. Gertrude hopes to build a future where she’ll find peace and happiness.

Will either of them ever be able to find peace?

(me again:) I enjoy stories about strong-willed, independent women. I feel sure this one will make me laugh. If you’re interested in trying something new, you can purchase Jodie’s book here:

Purchase Links

Ebook: https://pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=1635

Print: https://pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=1636

Jodie Wolfe creates novels where hope and quirky meet. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), and Faith, Hope, & Love Christian Writers (FHLCW). She’s been a semi-finalist and finalist in various writing contests. A former columnist for Home School Enrichment magazine, her articles can be found online at: Crosswalk, Christian Devotions, and Heirloom Audio. When not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband in Pennsylvania, reading, walking, and being a Grammie. Learn more at www.jodiewolfe.com.

Social Media Links

Website: https://www.jodiewolfe.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Jodie-Wolfe-553400191384913

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jodie-wolfe

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/JodieAWolfe

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15220520.Jodie_Wolfe

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Jodie-Wolfe/e/B01EAWOHXO/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

I hope you enjoy Jodie’s book. And if you still need ideas for Christmas gifts, any of books one (Protected), two (A Father’s Gift – set at Christmastime), and three (Accepted) in my San Antonio series would make perfect stocking stuffers. Available on Amazon.

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That’s a Long Row to Hoe

If you live in farmland, you’ve probably heard this phrase before. “A particularly difficult or problematic task, situation, or set of circumstances to contend with or confront.”

We have farmers in our family. The idea is not a new concept for us. We spent time with relatives this past weekend at a wedding in Lincoln, Nebraska. Douglas and Teresa, the farmers, headed home and got right back on the John Deere. The harvest is ready. Corn waits for no man.

Writing a book feels similar at times. The row ahead seems endless, and all you can focus on is what is right in front of you. The knowledge of everything that still awaits is daunting. But writing waits for no man. You dig in, put your head down, and work.

But finally, you’re finished. No more research. No more feedback from critique partners. No more editing. No more proofreading. You’ve finished the book, and you can sit back with a sigh of relief.

Sigh. That’s me today.

Accepted is done, uploaded, printed, and available for purchase. Today is book birthday number three in the San Antonio series.

If you like historical romance, you need this book. The probability is high you’ll learn a fact you didn’t learn at school. You’ll laugh and maybe cry. And you’ll see God’s love.

Need a little taste to be sure? Here are the first few pages. If you decide it’s for you, you can order here.

https://tinyurl.com/Accepted-book-three

Now, sit back and dive in. Enjoy.

San Antonio, Texas – Spring, 1864

Chapter One

They wasted time with every moment they stood idle.

Jonathan Campbell squinted one eye and peered at the cloudless sky. Mr. Nelson, from the feed store in San Antonio, should be along directly. Jonathan had placed his order for corn and cotton seed back in March, and they were due to arrive today. He sucked his teeth, impatience building. The store owner’s offer to deliver surprised him, but he was glad enough to accept the help that saved him from making a trip to town. The urge to start made him antsy. Where was the man?

With one knee pressed into the damp ground, he stretched his tight back with a groan. Sweeping his hat from his head, he wiped his sleeve across his brow. The sun’s rays brought welcome warmth after a frigid February and a rainy March, and he had worked up a sweat. Long, straight furrows gave testament to the labor he and the two farmhands had completed so far. The week had been productive. Preparing the soil to receive seed, helping along the life cycle established by God, spoke to a spot deep in his soul.

He gave the wrench he gripped in his sweaty hand one last yank and glanced up at the young man, who waited for him to work his magic with the plow. The hired hand had phenomenal skills with horses, but mechanical things reduced him to fumble fingers. “Try now, Teddy. I think it’s ready to go.”

Teddy grinned. “Is there nothing you can’t fix?” He popped the reins against the back of the draft horse, urging him on with a click of his tongue. The animal’s enormous hooves dug into the ground, and the machine lurched into motion. The depth wheel rotated easily now, silver metal from the plowshare glinting in the sun.

A pleased smile broke across Jonathan’s face as the rich, brown earth appeared. God made Adam from the dust of the ground. If only creating came that easy for him. Unfortunately, his took nothing but good, honest, hard work. Ah, well. When God made him, he added an extra pinch of farmer. He loved this life.

He stood and tugged his hat back down, then dusted his hands together. Halfway across the field, Ernest drove a team of mules, working his half of the acreage. The older man worked too far away for Jonathan to see, but he imagined the wicked grin that probably crossed his face. Teddy’s delay gave Ernest a jump on their progress.

Neither helper said anything aloud, but the farmhands competed to see whose team would finish first. Each stood convinced his choice of work animal ranked superior to the other. Teddy had fidgeted, casting anxious glances toward the opposite side of the field as he waited for Jonathan to fix the broken plow.

Ernest preferred working with the lean mules. Teddy loved the big draft animal. Jonathan preferred the animal that cost the least to feed and care for. At present, the contest measured in at a draw. Both required shoes to protect against the stony sections of land, both required feed during the winter. But both pulled their weight. Neither pulled particularly at his heartstrings. They were animals. Property. They had a job to do. And right now, that job meant getting this pasture ready for planting.

“Jonathan.” Belle’s voice carried across the field. He turned with a smile to greet his little sister.

She tramped over the plowed furrows, stepping up and down between the rows of dirt. A hamper banged against her knee as she came his direction, fingers wrapped around the handle.

Jonathan met her halfway.

“What’ve you got? The way you’re lugging that basket around, it must weigh as much as you.”

“Ma’s seen the way y’all eat when you come for lunch at the house. She packed enough for an army, so far as I’m concerned. You’d never know there’s only three of you.”

Jonathan laughed as he reached for the food. He rubbed his hand over her head, callouses on his palm snagging against her smooth blonde hair, pulling strands from her tidy braids.

“Stop.” Belle yanked her head away with the injured tone only a thirteen-year-old could affect. She smoothed her hand against the braids, darting a quick glance toward Teddy.

“Whoa there, missy. Don’t bat those big blue eyes at the hired help.” Jonathan cocked a warning eyebrow at her.

Belle turned as red as a tomato. “What—?” She stammered to a halt. “You’re stupid.”

Jonathan moved to block her view of the strapping young man walking behind the Percheron. “We’ve got work to do. Thanks for lunch. Head on back and see if Ma needs your help.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “I don’t answer to you. Just ’cause Pa died doesn’t mean you get to boss everybody around.”

“That’s exactly what it means.” Jonathan held up a hand, a peace offering. “But my apologies.” He waggled his fingers toward the house. “Unless you plan to drive a plow, you’re in my way.”

Belle stuck out her tongue. Then, with a last glance toward Teddy, she whirled around, braids flying.

Jonathan chuckled as she stomped off. Indignation vibrated through every step.

Both teams turned the corner at the far end of the seventy-five-acre field and headed his way. He whistled to catch the men’s attention and swung the basket through the air. “Lunchtime, boys,” he hollered. A field this large took a while to prepare, and they were on a schedule. But they had to stop to refuel now and again.

By the time they reached him, he had the contents spread across the ground. Six sandwiches, made with thick pieces of homemade bread and a hefty slice of ham, came wrapped in a dishcloth. A glass jar held fermented sauerkraut Ma’d put up last fall. Jonathan shook out equal portions onto tin plates he found in the basket’s bottom. One jug held milk, and a second carried water from their well. A plate of cookies lay on the bottom of the basket, a sweet dessert to finish the meal. When the men joined him, Jonathan bowed his head and gave thanks for the food.

They sprawled on the grass, enjoying the chance to rest. Life burgeoned busily around them as spring woke the earth. Mockingbirds sang, trilling through their repertoire of borrowed tunes. Bees hummed over early spring wildflowers, gathering nectar and pollen as they went. A breeze ruffled Jonathan’s hair as he leaned back on one hand, chewing with contentment. He could spend the rest of his life taking care of this farm and be completely happy.

They wolfed down the meal, taking turns drinking from the jugs. Ernest smacked his lips over the sauerkraut. “Not as good as my mutter used to make, but this is gut.”

Jonathan cocked an eyebrow at the older German, grinning. “I’ll let Ma know she’s earned your stamp of approval.”

Teddy brushed crumbs from his mouth. “What’s next, boss?”

Jonathan flinched at the title. He wasn’t ready to fill his pa’s shoes.

The young man reached for a second cookie. “Are we gonna do an extra field of cotton this year after we get the corn in?”

“Yes. The seed arrives today. I want to turn the sod in that section on the other side of the creek. We’ll plant cotton there. Last time I visited Galveston, I saw cotton bales lined up from one end of the port to the other. Rumor has it the armies want to buy every bale they can find to make uniforms for the dad-blasted war, but Union soldiers are blockading the port. Corn will always be our money-maker, but cotton prices may go up this year.”

Ernest sighed. “Plowing a new field is such a beating. We could build anything under the sun with that sod. It’s tough as nails.” He glanced at the team of mules grazing nearby. “My boys’ll need an extra helping of feed tonight.”

Teddy snorted. “Benny’s strong enough to do it. And he won’t need no extra feed, neither.”

Ernest glowered. “I never said the mules couldn’t do it. But they’ll deserve a reward for good work.”

Jonathan stood, ending the argument before it started. “Back to work, fellas.”

Benny nickered, perked ears facing forward as he stared toward the farmhouse. Jonathan turned, following his gaze.

“Here we go.” He rubbed his hands together in pleased anticipation.

Mr. Nelson’s wagon rumbled down the drive. Jonathan walked to meet the man. Seed bags filled the wagon bed, piled in orderly rows.

He frowned. Lots and lots of rows. Maybe the man would make another stop after dropping off his part of the purchase.

Jonathan doffed his hat, extending his hand for a greeting. Mr. Nelson pumped it, well pleased to deliver his bounty.

“Afternoon, Mr. Nelson. You’re here just in time. I’m gonna start in behind these men and plant while they finish plowing. I think we can finish today.”

Mr. Nelson hitched his thumb over his shoulder toward the bed of the wagon. “You’re gonna need more land plowed if you plan to use all this. Had to deliver this one myself. Didn’t want to put the responsibility of carrying back such a large payment on one of the stock boys.” He gazed over the partially plowed section. “But another reason I offered to deliver the seed is so I could check out what betterments you must’ve done on the property. For sure, this little field ain’t gonna use the whole order. It’s a sight more’n what your pa ever ordered.”

Ernest and Teddy approached the wagon.

A sick feeling curdled in Jonathan’s stomach. He peered at Mr. Nelson, wanting to ask, but afraid of the answer. Had he ordered all that?

Is that enough of a taste to wet your whistle? If you’ve purchased books one and two (Protected and A Father’s Gift), I thank you. Your support means everything. If you haven’t, don’t worry. You can read each book as a standalone. But if you want to start at the beginning, Protected (eBook) is on sale for $1.99 until midnight tonight. Grab it while you can.

And thank you for encouraging me. You make that long row worth the effort, and I appreciate you.

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Want to become an Influencer?

Hey, friends! I’m looking for interested parties.

My next book comes out on October 24, and I’m seeking partners to help me get the word out. If you’re interested in participating in a book launch, fill out the form attached below.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will include posting a graphic about the book on your social media once (sometimes twice) a week for the duration of the launch. You will also receive a digital ARC (Advance Reader Copy) of the book to read. Once the book is released, you will post a review on Amazon, Goodreads, and BookBub (or whichever of those you have an account with).

There are prizes involved! And if you invite a friend to join us, your name goes in the pot for the prizes double the times.

Can you help me spread the word? My latest characters, Jonathan and Quenby, will appreciate getting to know new readers.

Click the link below if you can help. Thanks!

Click Here to Apply for the Accepted by Paula Peckham Book Launch Team. https://docs.google.com/…/1FAIpQLScW3…/viewform

(Why is there a donkey pictured? Read the book to find out.)

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“Success is no accident. It is hard work, perseverance, learning, studying, sacrifice and most of all, love of what you are doing or learning to do.” – Pele

Writing, as it turns out, it much harder than I expected. Placing words on the page isn’t so bad. Making sure they’re good … that’s where the difficulty begins.

Then, once the words are firmly entrenched on the page, after being critiqued, edited, deleted, rewritten, re-critiqued, and finally accepted, comes the getting-them-out-into-the-world part.

Hurdles abound.

An editor must bless your work of art. Hurdle number one.

Depending on where you submit your masterpiece, you may need an agent to clear the path before you. Hurdle number two.

You must convince the publishing company your story is worth their while to print. Hurdle number three.

And once your novel finally sees the light of day, you have to let people know it exists. Hurdle number four.

But, sometimes the stars align. Your future works out just the way God planned it. Sometimes magic happens.

I’m grateful the Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers chose my book, A Father’s Gift, as the third-place winner in the novella category of their 2023 Selah contest this week. Being in the top seven finalists was an honor, alongside such names as Hallee Bridgeman and Lynn H. Blackburn, much less earning the third-place spot. Congratulations to them both for their second and first place awards.

Edwina Perkins and Edie Melson, directors of the Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers Conference

I encourage all writers out there to persevere. Your story is important, and someone in this world needs to hear your words. And when it finally happens, please share your joy and excitement with the rest of us. We will be just as happy as you are, I promise.