Angie Thompson's Blog
September 27, 2025
A Bit of A Mess
“Please forgive the mess in here.” Jaelyn swept an armful of maps and loose notebook paper off one of the chairs in the cluttered room and motioned the barefoot girl behind her to sit. “Oh, my dear, you’re freezing! Here, take this.” She snatched up a shawl that had slipped behind the chair and wrapped it around the younger girl’s trembling shoulders, and Maiwenn hid her face in it for a moment before looking up with brimming eyes.
“Aren’t you—aren’t you afraid I’ll spoil it?”
“Not in the slightest. I only wish you could take it back with you—to wherever it is you’ve come from.” She shot a black look toward the as yet unpainted door nearest the office that the girl had stumbled out of, then turned to survey the piles of construction scraps littering the floor. “I’m sorry this place isn’t in better shape. She’s built at least three new doors since I was here last, and that when she’s barely stepped foot out of one of the old ones for a month. I can’t tell you what any of that means, except that she intends to bring you to a better end than the place you’re at now. Whether she’ll accomplish it or not is anyone’s guess. But if she will pull us out here with no instructions—”
Jaelyn leaned against the wall and began sifting through the pile of paper.
“I wonder if you’d know your story if you heard it. You’re a bit too young to be a mother in space, I’d think.”
“I—I’m not a mother at all.” Maiwenn curled her feet deeper under her tattered skirt, and Jaelyn nodded.
“I thought not. Would your story take place in a royal court in an Italian-inspired setting?”
“I don’t know what that last part means, but—I’ve never stepped foot in a royal court in my life.” Maiwenn shook her head in bewilderment, and Jaelynn flipped a few more pages.
“A wetland setting reminiscent of the British fens in the time of the Danelaw?”
“I do live in the fens.” The girl’s eyes widened in recognition, but Jaelyn’s brow furrowed as she surveyed the rest of the scribbled sheet.
“Well, I’m not going to read the rest of this because I don’t half understand it, and I don’t think it applies to you at all. You’re quite beautiful, my dear.”
“Oh, no.” Maiwenn curled into herself a little as she ducked her head. “I’m too big and clumsy—ever since I was a baby. And I’m not half as pretty as my sisters.”
“I certainly hope there’s a lesson there,” Jaelyn muttered under her breath. She continued flipping through papers for a moment, then looked up with a gleam in her eye. “Well, I say if she won’t give us any instructions, we ought to take things in our own hands. Here are some of the most interesting searches she’s made and bookmarks she’s saved recently—perhaps they’ll give you a glimpse of what’s going on in her mind—just be aware it’s a frightening place sometimes!
Several searches to find when the phrase “a good sport” was first used
The text of “Wrecked but not Ruined” by R.M. Ballantyne
How to make a fish trap
The history of looms and butter churns
Gold rushes in the early 1900s (crossed out with a note of “not workable”)
How to find repeated words in a document
Futuristic trends for married last names (scribbled out with a note of “way too much of an unnecessary rabbit hole”)
How to tell whether sliced ham has gone bad (labeled “NOT for a story” and obviously in this stack by mistake)
Pages upon pages of Breton names
Historical methods of cooking eggs
And if that’s not the most oddly specific question that I don’t know why anyone would need to know—”
“Did you say…eggs?” Maiwenn’s cheeks flushed with a bit of color, and Jaelyn nodded.
“That’s what it says here. Is that something in your world, do you think?”
“I—perhaps not, if she actually means the eggs to be cooked.” The girl looked away with a grimace, and Jaelyn opened her mouth, then shook her head.
“She also has notes about a plan to write more consistently outside of her superhero serial—I’ll believe that when I see it—and notes about getting ready for another writing camp—I don’t want to know what kind of a mess this place will be in when that comes.”
Two doors popped open in the hall, and Jaelyn sighed as she laid down the papers.
“I suppose this means she is paying some kind of attention and wants us to leave before I spill too many of her secrets. I’m sorry I have to send you back into that—” She shivered as a chilly breeze wafted into the hall from Maiwenn’s door. “—but I promise you things will work out for good in the end. Whatever happens, you can cling to that.”
The younger girl rose without a word and disappeared into the cold and fog, and Jaelyn looked after her a moment, then slipped through her own door as the hallway faded to darkness.
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July 26, 2025
New Free Story!
“I’m still—not sure I understand.” Katja Lindstrøm turned to more closely survey the narrow porch with its comfortable furniture and the illusion of a yard stretching out in front of it, and Jaelyn sighed as she settled back in her chair.
“I know. I still don’t understand why she’s sent me to explain instead of doing it herself, or why she’s brought me here at all when everything in my world seems to have ground to a halt at the worst possible time.” She sent a scathing look over her shoulder toward the closed door to the author’s office, then shook her head. “But I suppose I’m glad for the chance to help—not her, but you, or anyone in the same position I am. Shall we begin on the questions, so you can go home?”
“Questions?” Katja pulled back with a suddenly guarded look, and a hint of a smile quirked the corner of Jaelyn’s mouth.
“Not many. And not difficult ones, I hope. And you ought to know, nothing you say here can return to your world in any way, so you’re in no danger.”
The other girl’s face still radiated deep suspicion, and Jaelyn’s smile deepened as she began to rock calmly.
“Tell us where you live. Generally, in the world, I mean. And in what time?”
“Norway.” Katja eyed her warily, as if watching for a trap. “And it’s—1943, I think? Or perhaps ‘44—I’m not sure how I’ve forgotten.”
“And what do you do there?”
“I’m a nurse.” Her suddenly blank look was replaced by a defiant glare, as though daring Jaelyn to challenge the truth of that statement, but her interviewer remained unaffected.
“Only one more question, Katja. In the last few days you’ve lived, is there anything special that you’ve learned?”
Katja’s eyes opened wide, and she clamped her lips tightly shut, but then she looked down at her hands, and her expression became soft and thoughtful.
“I suppose, if anything, it’s that things—that we—that people in general, I mean—are not always what we appear on the surface.” She raised her head quickly, appearing fearful that she’d said too much, but Jaelyn only nodded and motioned to the hallway.
“Thank you for sharing with us. You may go now; the door should be open.”
“Wait—that’s all?”
“Yes, the author’s instructions said she’s in a hurry to prepare for an in-person event, whatever that is, but she was inspired to write your story by a dear writing friend who had never seen a book heroine who shared her name, and since it mercifully allowed itself to be kept short, she’ll share it with everyone below. Which means our part is done for now. Godspeed!”
Norway’s resistance was strong today.
Katja Lindstrøm could taste the defiance in the air as the tram ground to a stop and the crowd began to shift around her. She had counted five red hats already today, and two more now boarded the tram and took separate open seats—alone but united in their boldness. The woman beside her gathered her bags and stood, and Katja caught one last glimpse of the daring pattern of her mittens—King Haakon’s symbol with the motto “Alt for Norge” stitched into the border—and felt again a little thrill of envy.
If only she dared make some outward sign, even just a paperclip on her lapel, to proclaim to both the Germans and her countrymen that she too refused to be cowed. But Fjellrev had told her often how vital her work was, and to stop the flow of information that passed through her hands would be a far greater blow to her country than the wounds to her own patriotic spirit from her scrupulously inoffensive attire.
Still, Katja couldn’t help squirming inwardly at the injustice that she, who had risked so much for Norway, could not exchange a knowing smile or a conspiratorial nod with a stranger on the street, simply because the visible marks of resistance were denied her.
If they only knew…
The tram lurched unsteadily as a late passenger clambered aboard and nearly fell into the seat next to Katja, and as she turned, the blood froze in her veins. Of all days to run against Ole Solstad—a known Quisling—a vile collaborator—her whole soul rebelled at the thought, and only the strictest control kept her from shooting to her feet.
It was the cruelest of injustices on a day when her spirit already strained against the bonds of enforced conformity. The Katja of two years ago would have braved arrest and even imprisonment rather than spend a single second in his company, but the Katja of today could only sit rigid, clinging to the thought of Norway, Norway, Norway while trying to imagine away the obnoxiously heavy breathing of her seatmate, hoping with all her soul that the other passengers would not view her apparent lack of revulsion as even the slightest degree of tolerance.
In what she supposed was a small mercy, Ole didn’t attempt to speak to her—she was sure she could not have borne that. He coughed a few times and shifted uncomfortably in his seat—how she hoped the other passengers were offering a hint of the icy displeasure she longed to pour forth!
It was bad enough to have grown up with a traitor—though who could have guessed that such dark inclinations lurked in the heart of the gap-toothed playmate who was always at the center of every plan? Not that those memories softened her feelings toward Ole—if anything, they made the silent recriminations heaped on his head every time he was forced upon her notice all the more bitter.
The tram ground to a stop at her corner, and Katja jumped up and fumbled for her bag, wanting nothing so much as to escape from the taint of Ole’s presence, but when she straightened again, he was before her, moving much too slowly toward the exit, and Katja nearly screamed in frustration. For a brief second, she considered staying on until the next stop, but Norway needed her at her post even more than Dr. Eriksen, and no Quisling would stand in the way of that.
She followed Ole Solstad off the tram, keeping far enough behind that the edge of her coat couldn’t brush his uniform, then pressed into the crowd of hurrying people and soon lost sight of him in the throng.
The band around Katja’s chest loosened a bit as she made her way through the streets to Dr. Eriksen’s office, and by the time she hung her coat in the cramped living space that also served as his reception room, she had nearly recovered her usual cheerfulness. This was the place where her best work was done—both her regular work as the doctor’s nurse and her secret work as a vital link in the chain of XU, funnelling crucial information to both the active resistance and the High Command in exile.
A note on the desk proclaimed that the doctor was out on an early house call, so Katja took her time straightening the little room and was humming to herself over her broom and dustpan when a hesitant knock sounded. Katja’s brow furrowed a bit—most everyone knew to simply walk in—but she set the broom aside and opened the door with a smile that stiffened instantly.
Ole Solstad stood before her with eyes closed and hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe as though he hadn’t a care in the world. How dare he follow her here—into her domain—into her sanctuary? Had he somehow received a hint of her activities and come to poke his rat’s nose around in hopes of reporting her to his Nazi masters? Well, let him; even if he smashed her lunch pail to pieces and discovered the false bottom, all the messages she’d received had been safely passed on. She knew the names of none of her contacts but Fjellrev—for all the good that alias would do them—and had never seen a face to recognize it. No, whatever happened to her, Norway was safe, and Katja lifted her chin and addressed the unwelcome visitor with her coldest reserve.
“May I help you?”
Ole jumped as if startled and blinked at her dazedly for a second, then straightened himself with a wince. His hand began to move to his breast pocket, then dropped again, and his chapped, reddened fingers clenched tightly at his side.
“Is the doctor in?”
“He is not.” Dr. Eriksen would never refuse someone seeking help, no matter their side, and if the traitor insisted on waiting, she could not in good conscience refuse, but Katja had no intention of inviting him to it. “Shall I tell him you called?” The words were nearly forced through her teeth, but her position demanded at least that inquiry.
“I—” Ole rocked on his feet a little, blinking hard, then gave a slight shake of his head. “I—no—thank you.” He turned away, and Katja shut the door firmly behind him, then leaned against it, trying to still the sudden shaking of her hands. For all her bravado in the face of danger, the abrupt release of tension left her momentarily weak, and she breathed a prayer of thanks for the empty room as she hastened to compose herself.
The first office patient of the day arrived only a few moments before the doctor himself, and after that a steady stream of patients kept her busy until seven minutes after ten, when she was finally able to slip away to the curtained alcove that held the water dispenser.
If Dr. Eriksen had any idea of the use to which his nurse had put that curtain, or her purpose in suggesting that the door to what had once been a separate flat would improve the air by being kept open, he had never voiced it, and Katja supposed it didn’t matter, so long as he didn’t seem to mind her use of the dispenser at somewhat more regular intervals than might be anticipated by pure chance. She had just had a visit yesterday from her most frequent ten o’clock caller—the man with a single streak of mud across his glistening black shoes—but others might also stop, particularly with something especially urgent, so she retrieved a cup and drank it slowly, tapping her low heels in a way that an innocent passerby would read as simply boredom.
A low sound from just beyond the curtain drew her attention, and she waited a few seconds, but no shoes appeared beneath it. Katja hesitated an instant longer, then turned back toward the reception room, but when she reached the corner, she paused once more to look back. From this vantage point, something was visible in the corridor—not a shoe, but a hand, lying limp and still. Katja’s heart stuttered as the memory of Ole Solstad returned. If he had been waiting in the hall—if he had caught one of her informants—
A chill of fear touched her heart as her feet instinctively drew her back to the curtain. If Ole was still waiting—if her coming confirmed his suspicions—but he could make nothing of it! She was a nurse, and a nurse on duty—she had more right than anyone to investigate an apparently injured man in the hall. Drawing a fortifying breath, she slipped past the curtain—and stopped still in her tracks for the third time that day.
The man on the ground had not been hurt by Ole Solstad—not unless the wound was self-inflicted. Katja’s heart beat wildly as she knelt next to her childhood friend turned Norway’s betrayer and placed a cautious finger to his throat. The pulse was there, faint and rapid, and Katja swallowed hard. What was she to do now? The man was her enemy—her country’s enemy. They were at war—soldiers on the battlefield received no mercy, and yet—
And yet, she was a nurse—and she claimed to be a Christian. Did her love for her country—her hatred for its invaders—her loathing for her disloyal countrymen—did all of that count for anything against what she knew to be her duty to her fellow man—whoever he was?
Katja closed her eyes, a deep shudder running through her entire frame, then breathed a prayer and rose to fetch Dr. Eriksen.
***
A rare quiet had settled over the office. The doctor had gone out on a call, and no patients remained except Ole. Katja sat stiffly on watch at his bedside, torn between the guilt of having turned him away that morning and the guilt of having helped save the life of one who might yet turn again and destroy all she held dear.
Unable to stay still with the turmoil churning in her heart, she rose and began gathering up the hated, bloodstained uniform. The toe of one shoe peeked out beneath the untidy pile, shining black leather marred with a single streak of brown. Katja gasped and held both shoes to the light—no other spot betrayed itself. Mind reeling, she let her eyes travel helplessly from the telltale streak to Ole Solstad lying unconscious on the bed, half dead from loss of blood. Fjellrev had praised the owner of these shoes as one of their most valuable agents—but Ole—a Quisling—a traitor? After a moment’s contemplation, she buried the shoes again and examined the discarded coat, feeling carefully over every inch until she found a hidden pocket with a small notebook tucked inside. The coded script erased any remaining doubt, and Katja returned to the bedside, staring down at the pallid face on the pillow.
How could he do it? She had struggled just today against her longing for some outward display of defiance. And yet he had—what? Allowed himself to be branded a traitor and collaborator to gain information vital to his country’s cause? Borne the hatred of all his former friends in silence, because the truth was too dangerous to speak? Nearly died with whatever secret the pages in her hands contained, his memory forever shunned by those he had served with such selfless loyalty?
Ole’s head shifted restlessly, and his brow contracted in pain. Katja applied a wet cloth with a gentler hand than she had ever imagined offering to Ole Solstad, and his cracked lips parted slightly. Katja leaned close, and the half-conscious words breathed warm and weighty in her ear.
“Alt for Norge.”
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June 30, 2025
Hectic Schedules and Rescue Parties
Photo by Hao Chen on UnsplashOh, gracious—I totally missed last month’s newsletter and came close to missing this month’s too! It’s been a really busy couple of months, more for real-life stuff than for writing, including dipping my toes in the water of a couple of local craft fairs for the first time in years. (Which was fun. And tiring. And very, very hot. But still fun.)
But my characters—aside from the ones in the Chronic Warrior Chronicles—haven’t had a whole lot going on. Although I did make some progress in Mamie’s story—but I left her basically unable to complete a full sentence, so it’s probably not the best time to bring her out for a visit…
So, in lieu of what’s been my normal format lately, I’m going to steal a tag that I saw and loved on the lovely Katja’s blog. Since I don’t have a blog to do these on, I usually skip them, but this one was so fun and interesting—and also partly writing related—that I thought it might fit here, and I already had most of my answers thought through after reading hers. (Like Katja, I’m going to do this twice, once with books I’ve read and once with my own characters.) So here you go, and I hope you enjoy!
#1 - The Reading Version
1) Which fictional villain would be most likely to kidnap you and why?
I’m going to go with Davira from the Ilyon Chronicles. Seriously, that girl is scary. As to why, it wouldn’t take much, since just being a Christian is enough to get you arrested in her kingdom. Although it’d be much more fun if her reason for kidnapping me was because I’d somehow worked my way into the top ranks of the resistance, because then I’d have gotten to hang out with all my favorite characters before I got snatched.
2) Where would said villain take you?
Probably depends on why she kidnapped me. As a generic Christian, she’d probably just stick me in the prison at the arena, but if she thought she could get something out of me, she might put me in the palace dungeon instead.
3) Okay, now you’re in a fix. Which 5 characters (1 per book/movie/fandom) do you want to come rescue you?
I’m assuming from Katja’s answers that the one-per-fandom also applies to the villains, which means I can’t use anyone else from the Ilyon Chronicles, which is sad. But that’s okay, because I have plenty of other choices for this one. So, I will go with:
a) Randal Everard Baltimore (aka Reb) from The Reb and the Redcoats by Constance Savery
If you don’t know why, you obviously haven’t read the book. Let’s just say, the boy is absolutely brilliant at escape plans. And doesn’t give up or leave people behind, which is good, because I’m probably going to be about as helpful in an escape as his actual friend, Tim. IYKYK 😆
b) Caiden Blade from the Stormbreathers series by A.J. Sky
Because the fact that I can’t use the Ilyon characters doesn’t mean I can’t have dragons. I mean, no, Caiden isn’t a dragon, but he’s very tenacious when it comes to fighting for justice and rescuing people from tight spots. And did I mention he comes with a dragon? What’s that? I’m only allowed one character? Then think of Spirit as a method of transportation. Still not allowed? Well, I dare you to stop a camouflaging dragon from tagging along anywhere it wants to. 😎
c) Brent Peterson from the Accidental Cases of Emily Abbott series by Perry Kirkpatrick
Because come on, a spy would be totally useful in infiltrating wherever I was being kept. And Brent has to be one of the best, or his boss would probably have fired him long ago. Besides, I’m sure he’d find a way to snag Emily into the plot, and they make an amazing team every time. Hmm? He’s absolutely not allowed to bring anyone else along? I really believe he’s heard that before, but somehow it just keeps happening… 😇
d) Simon Lee from the AKA Simon Lee series by P.D. Atkerson
Because I can’t really think of a skill that’s needed to break me out of prison that this kid doesn’t have. Hand-to-hand combat? Check. Lock-picking? Check. Annoying the guards so badly they won’t see me slipping away in the chaos? Also check. Actually, I could have had my pick of a number of characters from this fandom, but Lee will always be the first choice for me. 😄
e) Dym Ingleford from Enemy Brothers by Constance Savery
No, I really didn’t mean to pick two characters from the same author, and I don’t know that Dym has any special skills that would help in an escape attempt, but what I do know is this. If someone he cared about was kidnapped, no matter how long it took, he would never, ever, ever stop looking. That is all. 🥰
4.) Explain why you chose these characters.
Oh, whoops. Already did that. Moving on…
5.) Do you foresee any conflicts/problems within your rescue squad?
Hmm. I don’t think so. I feel like most of them are practical enough and chill enough to appreciate the skills and perspectives of the others. Although I can see Lee getting on everyone else’s nerves a bit, and possibly driving Brent a little nuts. (Because you are so one to talk, Brent…) But I feel like in general they would work well together and keep each other motivated. I definitely think I’d be in good hands here.
Which means we are now on to…
#2 - The Writing Version
1) Which fictional villain would be most likely to kidnap you and why?
Most of my villains (when I have them) aren’t exactly the kidnapping type, so my original instinct was to say Gerhard from Quiet Valor. But then I thought of a secondary villain from that series and realized said villain would also be a great choice. However, said villain is also a pretty big spoiler, so I’ll leave it at one of the two of them. As for why, if it’s Gerhard, I assume I have some skill that he thinks will be useful to him. If not, I assume the other villain intends to use me to gain power over someone else she wants to use.
2) Where would said villain take you?
If we were going with Gerhard, probably to an army garrison in Mitterstadt. If not, the possibilities multiply a bit, as the other villain is quite resourceful, if not as directly powerful.
3) Okay, now you’re in a fix. Which 5 characters (1 per book/movie/fandom) do you want to come rescue you?
Okay, I have to admit, this was hard, you guys! Especially because everywhere I turned, I was wanting to pick someone from Quiet Valor and couldn’t. Because so many of them would be awesome, even though it’s not even up for debate that Sallas would be my first pick. But here’s what I decided on instead…
a) Kevin from Code
Because the kid is a literal genius and also does not know the meaning of the word quit. Yes, he’d have to smuggle some of his own tech into this rescue operation, since the Quiet Valor world hasn’t developed computers yet, but I don’t think that’s against the rules, so I would like Kevin on my team, please and thank you. 😊
b) Lanz from Only a Treasure in Worth a Thousand Words
Yes, this is a short short, so we didn’t have a whole lot of time to get to know him. But I did establish that he’s an excellent tracker, and probably also a fairly good fighter, considering the environment we find him in. Plus he’s helped out in the infirmary out of necessity and so could probably handle any accidents that might occur along the way. That’s a lot of applicable skills for a character with less than 2,000 words! So, yep, I will be bringing Lanz along. 😉
c) Brady from The Chronic Warrior Chronicles
I would pick a day when he’s powered up, obviously. (Sorry for the aftermath, Brady…) But tell me x-ray vision is not going to be a major asset in finding me, especially if the secondary villain has me stashed who knows where. Brady comes. 🤨
d) Stephen, aka Steel Phoenix, from The Apex Guard
Eh heh heh…no one said they had to be active WIPs, did they? I have no idea how long it’s going to take me to write this one, but Stephen is definitely coming on this rescue mission. And not so much for his sweet personality (you know I love you for it, Stephen), but for his cybernetically rebuilt body that gives him super-strength and near invincibility. Hey, with all these stone walls around, somebody’s got to be able to smash through them! 😆
And this, friends, is where I got stuck for a long time. Sure, I have lots of other favorite characters from different stories. But for one reason or another, none of them seemed to fit as a member of a rescue team, or had a good reason for being there. Then, after nearly giving up, something reminded me of a character I’d written in a story within a story. So I give you the fifth member of my rescue team…
e) Jake Jetley from One in a Galaxy
And I am cracking up, because it is so funny, but it totally works! If you haven’t read the book yet, Jake is a character in Riley’s favorite TV show, but tell me you wouldn’t want to be rescued by a swashbuckling space adventurer if you had the chance! 🤣 Besides, in that kind of story the good guys always win in the end, right? So I’d be guaranteed to be rescued eventually.
4) Explain why you chose these characters.
Already did, again. Because why do it right the second time when you’ve already done it wrong the first time?
5.) Do you foresee any conflicts/problems within your rescue squad?
Honestly, not at all. They’re all super chill and sweet, so I don’t see what they’d have to argue over. Although they might have to hold Kevin back from doing something reckless without thinking things all the way through. Oh, wait—if it came to one of them having to be self-sacrificing or putting themselves in danger for the rest of them to finish the mission. Yeah, that conversation might go on a while, because they’d all basically throw themselves in harm’s way at a moment’s notice and wouldn’t be comfortable letting anyone else take that place. 😆
Okay, I know that was different. But hopefully it was fun! If you want to do the tag yourself, either with your own characters or other people’s, please be my guest. All the tag rules are on Katja’s blog—which I kind of fudged a little because this isn’t exactly a blog? But I had a lot of fun doing it anyway, and it gave me something quick that I could get out before the end of June.
Oh, and before I go, I have to mention—if any of you are Christian ladies who also write, you should definitely come and join our online writing camp! I’m going for 20,000 words this month, and hopefully some of them will not only be July’s newsletter but also something worth sharing about in an actual writing update.
See you soon!
~ Angie
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April 26, 2025
Better Late than Never
“Oh…this again.” Anna sighed as she glanced around at the door-lined hallway, and Lev cocked his head slightly, listening and absorbing the atmosphere.
“Oh. This is the writing space?”
“I don’t know how you remembered that after all this time, but yes. Although it does look like it’s gotten a bit of an upgrade.” Anna slipped her arm into his good one and guided him to the long room at the end of the hallway, which currently resembled the porch of a rustic cabin looking out over a forest scene.
“You can describe this place? The sounds are outdoors, but the air is not.”
“You’re incredibly good at that.” Anna smiled as she leaned her head against his shoulder, but before she could begin to fit words to the space, the author burst from her office door and shot around the corner into the room.
“Sorry—sorry I’m late! It’s been absolutely wild around here, and I totally missed last month, but hopefully I’m back now!”
“That’s—kind of surprising, actually, since last time you left us here on our own.” Anna lifted an eyebrow, and the author sighed as she pushed her slightly disheveled hair out of her face.
“I wasn’t actually talking to you. I was talking to everyone else who’s been waiting for me—and you, but that’s still mostly on me. I got sucked into a massive house decluttering and reorganizing project that took me the better part of two months, and I’ve barely had time for doing anything writing-related except keeping up with the serial. Until today, when I finally got Depth of Mercy published—just half a year later than I was planning, but still, better late than never!”
“I suppose that’s why we’re here.” Anna’s eyes narrowed a little as her hand hovered protectively over Lev’s arm, resting in its sling, and the author winced, but a smile touched Lev’s lips.
“I like this title for the part of the story I think you are telling.”
“Thank you.” The author’s shoulders relaxed a little, and Anna gave something between a laugh and a sigh.
“Does this mean you’re finished with us now?”
“Not…quite?” The author grimaced apologetically, and Anna groaned. “But I really do think one more story will wrap up your timeline and let me leave you in peace. It’s just—not going to get done as fast as I was hoping, which seems to be the story of my life right now. But I’m trusting that God will help me get the stories He wants out on His timeline, and that’s the best I can do. So I hope you all enjoy this new story, and I’ll try not to get quite so far behind on my updates again!”
She turned and rushed back into the office, leaving the other two standing where they were. Anna blinked in confusion, but Lev chuckled softly.
“I think this was our dismissal. We are free to go?”
“We should be—except there’s nowhere for us to go at the moment. I think she forgot—”
Their door clicked open, and Anna shook her head as she led Lev back toward it.
“I can only hope whatever she still has planned isn’t as bad as the next one.”
“All other stories have wrapped up well so far. I think we can trust.”
The door closed behind them, and the screen went dark.
How far would you go to help an enemy?
Anna and Lev are enjoying a rustic fall hike when a rainstorm forces them into proximity with a testy teenager. When River’s disdain for technology in general and HALEY in particular provokes unexpected violence, Anna is more than ready to banish the troublesome acquaintance from her thoughts. But when the teen’s impetuous temper leaves her gravely injured, neither Anna nor Lev can abandon her to her fate. What will they be willing to risk to rescue the girl who’s wronged them?
A short story, previously published in Seize the World
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March 1, 2025
A Late Holiday Gift
Yep, I am late. In counting my weekends, I neglected to take note of the fact that the last Friday of the month did not correspond to the last Saturday of the month. Does that mean you’ll get two newsletters in March? One can only hope…
I also had hoped to announce another short story release but did not manage to make it happen this month, so hopefully that will be coming in the actual March newsletter. In the meantime, please enjoy this short story only a little bit late for President’s Day, which was first published in the Very Bookish Celebration collection. Hope you enjoy!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Jayna?”
The familiar voice intruding on the noisy loneliness that filled her hospital room made Jayna’s heart jump, and the monitor behind her head beeped annoyingly. She barely remembered her injured back in time before trying to turn toward the door.
“Jax?” The word wavered, but then Jax’s face came into view—not on a phone screen like it’d been for a week, but actually next to her bed. “Isn’t it late? Why are you up? How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.” Jax’s hand settled gently over hers. “Fever’s stayed down more than a day this time, so they might let me go soon. How are you? You weren’t answering. I was getting worried. Sweet-talked the nurses into letting me come.”
“Mom took my phone last night. Chat was blowing up when I was getting sleepy.” Jayna blinked against the double sting of loneliness and guilt. “But she had loads of jobs today, so she left before I woke up, and she’s been gone all day. And it’s on silent or dead, so I can’t even tell the nurses where to look.” A hot tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and she rubbed it awkwardly against the pillow.
“Guess I can’t exactly go searching.” Jax glanced at his wheelchair and the leg propped in front of him on one of the footrests, wrapped in layers of splints and bandages. “I’ll ask my mom to come look. But first I have something to show you. They wanted us to watch it together, but obviously we couldn’t get you on a call.”
“From who?” Jayna shifted for a closer look as Jax swiped his tablet open, and a spasm rippled through her back. Jax must have heard her gasp because his hand was immediately on her arm again.
“Careful, Jaye! Don’t hurt it more. From everybody, I guess, but Mercy and Ethan were the planning committee.”
“Mercy and…Ethan?” The incongruity of the thought jerked her attention from the worst of the pain. “How…what?”
“Guess.” Jax’s grin widened, and Jayna thought for a second, then turned her palms up.
“I mean…I’d say Mercy dug some idea out of an old book, but if Ethan’s involved, it’s got to have some kind of wacky twist.”
Jax clapped a hand over his mouth to smother his laughter, probably mindful of his precarious visiting permissions.
“You nailed them,” he managed finally. “Mercy says you should read Jack and Jill, and she doesn’t even care what format. Ready for this?”
Jayna nodded, and Jax lifted the tablet so they could watch together. The video started with their whole small youth group gathered in front of the camera, calling hellos to both of them before finishing in semi-unison with “Happy Washington’s Birthday!”
“Wait…aren’t we past that?” Jayna glanced over at Jax as the picture bounced and panned off-center to Ross, their youth leader, who was apparently manning the camera.
“Holiday was Monday, but Mercy went with Washington’s actual birthday. Said it was more accurate.” Jax winked, and Jayna smiled a little, turning back to the video.
The scene cut to Maria Dolores’s littlest brother in a too-big tricorn hat, hacking at the base of a magnolia with a plastic toy saw, while Jonah attempted to shove his face into the corner of the screen, yelling something about the story being apocryphal until Ethan wrestled him out of the frame. Then Gabe appeared with his glasses pushed down his nose, squint-scowling at the little boy effectively enough that Maria Dolores had to prompt his intrinsic honesty from off-camera.
Next they were at the river, with Jonah wearing the same hat, balancing precariously in his granddad’s fishing boat, and holding a large and very modern American flag as Gabe and Finley sat behind him, trying to look like they were rowing while not upsetting the rocking boat.
“How wet did they get?” Jayna whispered, and Jax just laughed.
The shot changed to Mercy in an armchair with an old-fashioned cap on her head, the flag in her lap, and a needle in her hand. Gabe stood in front of her, respectfully holding the tricorn and describing the symbolism of the flag he wanted, which they were apparently pretending hadn’t already appeared in the Delaware crossing and wasn’t currently lying finished in her lap. But the scene after was the funniest of all, featuring Ethan with the hat lying next to him, kneeling in prayer in front of an interested alpaca, which kept trying to eat his hair, while Jonah and Mercy argued off-screen with Finley, who had all but promised to borrow an actual horse.
By the time the production finished with a circle of “get well”s, Jayna had tears running down her cheeks, but as Jax set the tablet back in his chair, her laughter dissolved into sobs. Immediately, Jax’s hand was on her arm.
“Jayna. Jayna! Come on, don’t! You’ll hurt your back more, and they’ll never let me in here again!”
“W-why do they care, Jax? Why do y-you still care? It’s all my fault! I’m the one who—distracted you and p-put us here.”
“Jaye, don’t! It was my fault as much as yours. I was driving; I should’ve paid more attention. And besides, you think I’d just, what, quit being friends? Over one bad decision? Come on, Jayna, look at me.”
Jayna blinked hard to clear her streaming eyes, and Jax leaned closer.
“God doesn’t write you off for a failure, Jaye. And we won’t either. Mom told me today she’s going to rent hotel rooms right next door, so we’re sticking around for a while. And now that I’m out of bed, I’m going to haunt this place until they let you come with us.”
“Jax…” Jayna’s voice failed, and Jax squeezed her hand tighter.
“We’re in this with you. Whatever happens. We all are. And as soon as Mom finds your phone, I’m going to show you how to set up night mode, so you’ll never spend another day without proof.”
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February 3, 2025
A Place for Joy
(Please forgive the massive size of the pictures; I have a help request into Substack because their editing interface seems to have changed, and I don’t know how to fix it.) 🙃
“It’s a lot to take in, I know.” Emmalie offered a sympathetic smile as she held out a delicate cup toward the newcomer, and the young woman swallowed hard as she accepted it, although she didn’t move to take a sip.
“No, it’s—I mean, yes. I mean—I suppose I should be grateful to know—the world hasn’t truly become—what it is for me, but—”
“Believe me, we understand it better than you think.” Emmalie turned her gaze to her sister-in-law, who sat perched rigidly on the edge of a rocking chair, lips pressed together and eyes fixed vacantly toward the blond toddler who lay on the floor, happily building with blocks. “Our own world is…well, I suppose we ought to say it’s better now that we’ve passed the physical war. But the danger hasn’t…fully…”
“You don’t have to explain.” Brinlee tore her focus from her dusty boots and met Emmalie’s gaze hesitantly. “Do you feel at all—guilty—being able to rest here when—”
“When those you love are still suffering?” Emmalie voiced the question gently, and Jaelyn’s eyes squeezed shut. Brinlee nodded, and Emmalie sat thoughtfully for a moment before answering. “I don’t think so. I see it more as…doing my part.”
“Your part?” Brinlee cocked her head curiously, and Emmalie nodded.
“Because there’s a reason for the suffering in our worlds. And we can trust—or I believe we can—that it’ll all be worth it in the end. But if our stories are going to encourage others, then our time spent here—telling others about them—it isn’t wasted. It’s helping to make sure that all of our pain—all of their pain—” Emmalie’s voice faltered just a little. “—that it isn’t for nothing.”
“Look, Mummy!” A bright little voice broke into the beat of silence that followed, and smiles touched each of the serious faces as the little girl hopped up and tugged Brinlee’s hand, pointing eagerly toward her block tower.
“It’s very pretty, Joy.” Brinlee squeezed the little girl’s hand, and Joy giggled happily as she ran back to the toys.
“Her name is almost a lesson in itself.” Emmalie murmured the words, and Brinlee nodded emphatically.
“It truly is. She’s lived through—I don’t even know how much. But she still sees the world…”
“It’s beautiful to watch. And a spark of light shines brightest in the darkness.” Emmalie’s eyes were still on Joy, and she didn’t seem to notice the look that Jaelyn shot her way. “Are you ready, do you think? To tell them?”
“I guess so.” Brinlee drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders as she faced the screen. “Our story was apparently published a while ago, in an anthology, but it’s just been published for the first time on its own. She’s calling it a ‘cozy Christian contemporary dystopian,’ whatever in the world that means. And somehow, it seems like ours is also the first of our stories to have an audiobook made. If you’re interested in that, there’s a special sale this week, so you can find it below, or check to see if it’s made it to your favorite store yet.”
Joy in the Morning - Audiobook
“And Angie apologizes for the delay in this newsletter—she says it was partly the fault of her getting her weekends mixed up and partly the fault of being sick.”
“You’re calling her by her first name now?” Jaelyn turned on her sister-in-law with a raised eyebrow, and Emmalie offered a tiny shrug.
“I’ll take other suggestions. But ‘our author’ sounds awkward, and I don’t know why we shouldn’t make ourselves as comfortable as we can while we’re here.”
“That’s—actually not such a bad idea…” Jaelyn trailed off thoughtfully, stroking the tassels of the shawl that couldn’t fully hide the growing curve to her stomach.
A click sounded from the hallway, and two doors popped open. Brinlee took a deep breath and sent an apologetic look toward the little girl.
“Ready to go home, Joy?” Her voice wavered a little, but Joy jumped up and ran to her without a protest.
“We get kids, Mummy?” She held up her hands, and Brinlee scooped her up and held her close, burying her face in her hair for a few seconds.
“Yes, baby. I guess the kids still need us. Let’s go do what we can.” She walked back to her door, but as she began to close it behind her, Emmalie softly called her name.
“Brinlee? Just remember—it does still matter.”
Brinlee blinked hard and nodded, then disappeared, and Jaelyn rose and motioned for Emmalie to precede her toward their own door.
“Don’t forget your shawl.” Emmalie motioned toward the chair she had just left, and Jaelyn shook her head, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips.
“No. If I need it at home, she’ll have to give me another. As you’ve said, everything has a purpose. And if I can leave a little comfort here for the next one who comes, I’m going to do it.”
“Is this your new resistance? Making a difference, no matter what’s happening in our world?” Emmalie offered a soft smile, and Jaelyn lifted her chin defiantly.
“Maybe it is.” She drew a breath and bit her lip a moment before continuing. “Emmalie? Do you truly think—it’ll all come out right?”
“With everything I’ve seen? I truly do. We don’t exist without a purpose. You’ll see.”
Jaelyn nodded and straightened her shoulders before helping guide her wheelchair through the door and closing it tight behind them.
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December 21, 2024
In Which the Author Takes a Break from the Usual Format to Discuss a Potential Breakthrough in Classification; Or, Have I Finally Found My Genre?
Photo by Stéphane Juban on Unsplash
I had ambitious plans for this month’s newsletter—largely consisting of packing this lovely imaginary space next to my imaginary office with a total of fourteen kids, two aunts, and no instructions, and seeing where things went from there. (Of course I was expecting pure chaos—that was the entire point.) But then…something happened. Something that brought so many pieces that I’ve wrestled with over the years into focus and felt like such a revelation that I couldn’t resist sharing it here to see if it resonated the same way with my readers.
So this month, I’m going to leave the doors closed, the hallway dark, and the screen off and talk to you in regular essay-type format like a normal writer. Don’t worry, the characters will be back—I still find it way easier to write as them than as myself—and I’m starting to sense ideas brewing in some of their heads for ways to make themselves less entirely at my mercy in this space, so…that should be interesting. But all that to say, I have no intention of reverting to this format any more than once in a blue moon. And also, since this month’s moon seems to be the kind of breathtaking shade of blue that stopped me dead in my tracks and made me sit and bask in its light for hours and inspired me to tell everyone about the experience—yes, this metaphor is quickly getting out of hand, but—here we are.
The revelation in question came in the form of a YouTube video that randomly popped up on my page. I’ll be honest—I don’t watch many YouTube videos on writing. I think it’s mostly because so much of my writing process is instinctual that I have a hard time applying most of the advice, and a lot of it just flat out doesn’t work for me. But I do have a bit of a soft spot for people analyzing certain tropes and why they work and when they don’t—things that I understand by instinct but couldn’t explain until someone else puts words to it. So the title “In Defense of Low-Stakes Fiction” intrigued me, and I clicked on the video.
To be honest, most of the video’s content wasn’t life-altering for me. It mainly used examples from video games, talking about how sometimes it was nice to play something that just involved gardening, or running a bake shop, or something quiet and normal instead of an epic world-saving quest. But at one point, the creator used a genre descriptor that I’d never heard of. And that descriptor was “cozy fiction.”
I was deeply intrigued. I’ve heard of cozy mystery, of course (although I don’t usually read it because murder mysteries tend to creep me out no matter how sweet and small-town the setting is), but this seemed to be something different. We weren’t talking about mysteries at all, it seemed, but other stories that were being labeled as “cozy.” Stories with normal characters and low stakes and time to catch your breath. I wanted to know more. So I went Google searching.
What I found is that “cozy” subgenres of fiction (aside from mystery, of course) have only become a specifically labeled thing relatively recently. It was hard to find much information on the subject, but there are a few writers and readers who have set out their own tentative definition of what counts as “cozy fiction.” As expected, these definitions don’t always match up. The term appears to have started with fantasy, migrated to sci-fi, and recently been also applied to romance. Most of the books suggested were ones that I hadn’t read and don’t intend to read for various reasons. And yet reading these descriptions and defenses and stabs at definitions—I felt like I had come home.
Some of you may know that I’ve struggled with the characterization of my books ever since I started publishing them. Bridgers wasn’t terribly difficult—it’s definitely contemporary, definitely young adult, and has enough elements that came right up against the edges of my comfort zone that I felt compelled to put a parents’ note at the beginning. Start your entire brand with the edgiest thing you’ve ever written…yeah, that should work out great… But still—it didn’t step over that line. We saw the aftermath of violence, not the violence itself. A teenager mentions smoking and pulls out a cigarette, but ends up not using it. The background of the rough neighborhood is a constant presence and a big part of the plot, but the book doesn’t dive into the gritty details. But still, it was close enough to the books it was shelved next to that I didn’t feel compelled to explain why it was different any time someone reached for it.
But as I continued publishing, I began to struggle. Love Blind didn’t seem too hard a sell for the contemporary romance category. Code was harder. Aside from the difficulty of defining what this world even was (sci-fi—maybe—kinda—because of the computer stuff? Or dystopian—sorta—almost—right on the edge?), I began to have the uneasy feeling that whatever label I picked, someone looking for that thing would find my stories ever so slightly…off. Even when dealing explicitly with world-ending stakes, my focus was narrow. Personal. More about family and healing and restoration. The plot fed the point, sure, but it wasn’t the point in itself. I couldn’t define this, but I felt it. And the feeling only grew stronger as the years went by.
Quiet Valor is best classified as non-magical fantasy/kingdom adventure, but when someone picks it up because they’re a fan of those things, I bite my lip and worry. One in a Galaxy can’t be classed as anything but sci-fi, but it’s out of place on those lists. The Chronic Warrior Chronicles is a superhero story, but some of its biggest fans don’t read superheroes, and I’d be hesitant to hand it to a superhero fan without overexplaining the angle that I’m coming from. When people ask me what genre I write, I laugh and stammer and scramble for words because on the face of it, my genres are all over the map. But at their heart, I’ve always felt like my stories are more similar than different. It’s not like I’m alternating between quirky contemporary rom-coms and gritty space battles and epic fantasy quests. I write characters and relationships, and if they happen to be set in an imaginary land, or on a spaceport, or a couple hundred years in the past, it’s almost incidental to what the core of the story is.
Enter cozy fiction. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I meet the proposed definitions, but I’d feel much more confident arguing that Quiet Valor belongs on a list of cozy fantasy than trying to explain why One in a Galaxy belongs on a shelf with most science fiction. So, with the tentatively proposed definitions for a relatively new genre of which I’ve read none of the defining books—allow me to make my case.
Focus on community and relationships
Most of the attempted definitions of cozy fiction I’ve come across include this in one form or another. Some explicitly include words like “found family” as prominent within the genre, if not required for it. Need I say, my stories have this in spades? Relationships, and beyond that, belonging, are core to every story I write, even if they may not be the main point of an individual story. This is what I’ve tried to explain about my stories for years, but could never find the words to describe why it mattered more than the specific genre trappings of any given setting.
Lack of grittiness, on-screen violence, gore, and other similar elements
Not much to say on this point except that I’ve never really considered putting these things into my stories, so I think I pass this bar. I understand that some people don’t like this approach, and I don’t try to pretend away the awful things that exist in the world, but I don’t personally feel compelled to give them all that much screen time. Check.
Happy endings/low stress/the assurance that things will be okay
Some people separate these out, or name one but not the others, but they all seem to belong in the same sort of bucket to me. Some books you go into entirely unsure whether any of your favorite characters are going to survive to the end. Other books you can be fairly sure that they’re going to come out okay. Have I mentioned how much I don’t like books that make me cry? (Mostly…there are exceptions, but they’re few and far between.) Again, I’m not saying these books don’t have their place. And I’m not promising that no character ever will die in my books, or that I’m above letting at least an apparent death happen when needed for the story. (If you know, you know…) But throwing that kind of thing around randomly? Leaving things without hope and at least a promise of a better future? That’s not my writing. I think I pass this one.
Slice of life scenes/small scale settings
I personally shy away from the phrase “slice of life” because I associate it mostly with an entire lack of plot—this probably stems from my very first written-down story having an absurd unrelated ending tacked on out of the blue because I realized all my fun, snowed-in-with-friends scenes that had gone on for chapters had absolutely no point. But, specific terms aside, do I write people engaging in normal, everyday activities? Yes. Yes, I do. And even with the epic canvas of an entire galaxy to paint on, did I focus in on the details of domestic life for one little family in one tiny spaceport? Yes. Yes, I did. I think we can consider this box checked.
Rich descriptions
I’ll be honest, this one didn’t pop up in all the definitions I found, but when it did, it gave me pause, because I’ll be honest—description is not my selling point. But then again, I do try to use details to create very atmospheric settings, which I think passes for description a lot of the time. And I try not to skimp on the worldbuilding, just because I’m working on a much smaller scale. So, I think I’m in the clear on this one.
Low stakes/personal stakes
Okay, so this is the one where I feel like I’m on the shakiest ground. Not with most of my stories—generally, this is dead-on. The stakes are about people and relationships and personal growth. However, this element seems to be pitted in most cases specifically against the idea of “saving the world”—which gives me pause for just a couple of my stories. But since one of those stories felt the most displaced in its own genre and most at home when I first started imagining what “cozy fiction” might be, I want to fight for it. More than I ever did for any other genre. So let’s try.
The book I’m thinking of is A Threat and a Promise, where Jaelyn is explicitly on a mission to “save the world,” or at least the world as she knows it. So how can I argue it belongs in a category of books where the idea of low or intensely personal stakes are almost universally considered a defining characteristic? Well, for one thing, Jaelyn’s battles within the book are intensely personal. Arguably, her most traditional heroic act comes at the very beginning, and the rest of the book is spinning out the consequences of that act. Unusually for a “saving the world” plotline, there’s little action and no battles. Jaelyn never meets the distant villain, and there’s no direct confrontation with the secondary one. She’s doing her part—a big part—to save the world, but it comes in quietness and watchfulness, in fleeing to spread the news to the other threatened kingdoms, in weeks riding and talking and cooking over a campfire. She is saving the world as a whole, but in a quiet, unsung, personal way that the epic fantasy genre would scratch their head at. So…low stakes? Not quite. Personal stakes? Most definitely. But…stakes that, while high, aren’t roaring in your face like most save the world plots? 100%. So, paradoxically, I am going to fight for A Threat and a Promise’s right to be placed in this “low stakes” genre, even if, on the surface, the stakes don’t seem to be all that low.
Warm, peaceful feelings
And now we come to the “vibes” part of the definition, which is so easy to understand on a personal level and so hard to define on a wider scale. But may I just say, I named my publishing imprint “Quiet Waters Press” after Psalm 23 years before I knew that “cozy fiction” was a thing. My favorite compliments ever have been when someone says they pick up one of my books when they’re stressed, because they know it’ll help them relax, even if it’s a new one they’ve never read before. That’s why I do this. That’s what I want. That’s why I think I fit in this genre, even though I’ve only just been introduced to it and may never read the majority of the books contained in it. But—that’s why it felt like coming home.
So now I have to ask, as my readers, what do you think? Have you ever heard of “cozy fiction”? Do you think it’s a good descriptor of my stories? Do you think it’s a helpful term that would attract the right kind of readers, or are there reasons you would steer away from it? Obviously there’s no “cozy fiction” genre to class myself in on Amazon (although it does show up in a keyword search), but I can see it simplifying discussions about what exactly I write, as long as it doesn’t cause confusion. But you guys are the experts on what my stories are as opposed to what I think they are, so I very much value your opinions. Do I write “cozy fiction” that just happens to be historical, or sci-fi, or superhero? Or is there a better descriptor that ties all my books together? No pressure, but I would love to hear your thoughts!
Oh, and here are the two books that are free this weekend, just in case you missed them in the glut of Black Friday emails—featuring two aunts with fourteen nieces and nephews between them, and so many cozy vibes. I hope you enjoy, and I’ll see you back next month, most likely in the usual format. God bless, and thanks for listening to my ramble!
Non-exhaustive list of sources:
In Defense of Low Stakes Fiction
https://theafictionado.wordpress.com/2024/08/08/comfort-and-catharsis-or-what-even-is-cosy-fantasy-and-why-does-it-work/
https://www.rachelneumeier.com/2023/07/21/cozy-fantasy/
https://dovelynnwriter.medium.com/cosy-sff-31aaa6599bc4
https://www.reddit.com/r/CozyFantasy/comments/1c2joct/the_big_cozy_genre_debate/
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November 30, 2024
Thanksgiving Gifts
“Hello? Is anyone here?” Savannah glanced up and down the hallway and, seeing no one, moved cautiously toward the lighted screen at the end of it. She stepped into a room decorated like a balcony covered in flowers and stood looking around in wonder until someone tapped her arm. She shrieked, spun around, and came face to face with a boy in threadbare peasant’s clothes, holding his hands up in apology. “Oh! Why didn’t you say something? How long have you been standing there?”
Gabrijel put his hand to his throat and shook his head in a sorrowful gesture, and Savannah stepped back, covering her red cheeks with her hands.
“You—can’t talk? How on earth do these things always happen to me?”
Gabrijel looked unsure how he would have answered her if he’d been able, but he held out the papers in his hand, and Savannah grabbed them and scanned them quickly, glad for the chance to hide her face for a moment. After two times through the stack, she lowered them and blinked up at Gabrijel, looking more bewildered than before.
“Have you—read these?”
Gabrijel nodded, and Savannah glanced down at the papers again, blinking hard as though trying to fully take in their meaning.
“So, we’re—characters in books. Different books, I’m almost sure, considering…” She shot a look at her modern clothing next to the boy’s obviously historical apparel and shook her head. “And we’re supposed to—give updates? To who?” She shuffled through the papers again, glanced at the supposed balcony, and groaned. “Of course it’s a screen. How did I not notice that? And they’re probably already watching.”
Closing her eyes, Savannah took a deep breath and released it slowly, then turned to the screen and offered a smile that was only a little strained.
“Okay, so, we’re characters in books. Let’s just roll with it. And I guess she picked us to update you on her ‘camp projects,’ whatever that means. One of our stories she says was sprung on her without warning, but it was short enough that she finished it in a day, and the other apparently had a slow start, but is coming faster now, in spite of some unique challenges. I’m…kind of assuming that’s yours—it can’t be all that easy to write a character who can’t talk…”
She caught herself suddenly and glanced at Gabrijel, who offered only a smile and shrug of acknowledgement, then turned back to the virtual balcony.
“I guess the next thing on the list is to tell you about the book sale that’s going on from Black Friday through Cyber Monday. You’ll find it linked below, with hundreds of books, all 99 cents or free. Our author—wow, that sounds weird—has fourteen books in the sale, so be sure to check them out, and take a look at some of the other offerings as well. That—may actually be where she is right now, depending on when you’re reading this.”
Gabrijel touched her arm and lifted his hands in a mystified gesture, and Savannah grimaced.
“I’m—not sure how much I can really explain of what all that meant. But the people who need to know will understand, I’m sure.”
Gabrijel seemed content with that answer, and Savannah turned back to the stack of papers and shuffled through them once more.
“It looks like there’s only one more thing, which is another free book that’s not in the sale. It’s—” She ran her eyes over the page again and groaned. “Of course it is. It’s my story, and it’s not very long, but it’s her gift to all of you for the next few days. She says to tell you that it’s not specifically set at Thanksgiving, but it is warm and heartfelt and family-centered, so it seems like an appropriate holiday present. She’ll have a special link for it below.”
“Okay, I think that’s it.” Savannah let out a sigh of relief and turned back to Gabrijel. “She doesn’t have any guarantees for when your story will be finished, but she says she’s hoping to be able to share more about it soon.”
A click echoed from the hall, and the they swung around to see two open doors. Savannah hurried back to her own but paused and watched as Gabrijel made his way slowly to his. When he paused doubtfully at the door, she hesitated for a second, then reached out and touched his arm. He looked up, and she offered a sympathetic smile.
“I don’t know what all is happening to you right now, but if it’s anything like what’s happened to me—I think I can promise that the things you’re dreading, whatever they are, will eventually be worth it.”
Gabrijel swallowed hard, straightened his shoulders, and smiled his thanks, then took a step inside, and both of their doors shut together.
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November 2, 2024
So Many Questions
“Ohh, not this again…” Brady groaned as he took in at the dim hallway lined with doors. Beside him, Marcus glanced around in wonder, then turned an inquisitive gaze toward his guide.
“Is this—still the hospital? I thought you said we were going outside.”
“No. And we were. It looks like we’ve been detoured.”
“Detoured by who?”
Brady ignored the question as he tried the latch of the door at the end of the room, but it didn’t open. He turned his attention to a bulletin board next to it and narrowed his eyes as he read the papers pinned there.
“What’s going on?” Marcus’s voice held just the slightest tremble, and Brady sighed as he returned to his companion.
“Last time I was here, she actually went to the trouble of explaining things, but I guess we don’t get even that courtesy anymore. Come here—at least there’s a place for us to sit down now.”
Questions swam in Marcus’s eyes, but he followed Brady to a long, perpendicular room that ran across the end of the hallway and took a seat on a concrete bench opposite a screen that currently projected a surprisingly accurate depiction of the view from the front of the medical center. Brady instinctively reached for his sunglasses before catching himself with a disgusted shake of his head.
“So?” Marcus prodded softly, and Brady exhaled a long breath.
“I don’t even know where to start. There was enough to explain before this, but now—”
“Can you just…try? I don’t get any of what’s happened today.”
“I know.” Brady closed his eyes for a second, then straightened his shoulders and faced Marcus again. “What’s going on here is that—apparently we’re characters in a book. Or maybe more than one. Which—”
“Explains so much of the weird stuff that’s going on!” Marcus’s entire face lit up, and Brady couldn’t help a chuckle.
“Exactly. Although why on earth she brings us out here to give her announcements, I still can’t understand. But if we’re going to end up back at whatever our story is supposed to be, I guess we should get them over with. First off, she apologizes for this being late, which is absolutely not our fault, even though she somehow thinks it should be. Second, if anyone isn’t already following along with the serial and wants to meet you—officially—they can find us at the link below.”
The Chronic Warrior Chronicles
“And if you’re just hearing about this or didn’t follow along for the last couple of years, you can now get the whole first season together either in ebook or in paperback. It’s—kind of scary that we’ve got enough stories to fill a paperback, honestly.”
“And finally, if you also happen to be a writer and want to get sneak peeks at what she’s working on this month, which according to her is, quote, a hodgepodge, she’ll also have the link to that below. I think that’s it for now.”
Brady stood and started back toward the door they’d come from, and Marcus scrambled to follow him.
“Hey, wait! What about the rest of the explanations? Didn’t you say—”
“Yeah, you’re probably supposed to be getting those in the book, not here.” Brady grimaced as he glanced back toward the author’s closed door. “But you know what, you’re not going to remember it anyway. So really quick—one question, and I’ll answer it.”
Marcus’s forehead furrowed as he thought for a second, then looked up eagerly.
“Okay. One question. What kind of story are we in?”
“Not bad.” Brady smirked and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Superheroes.”
“No. Way.” Marcus stood stunned for a moment as Brady disappeared through the open door, then ran to follow him. “Wait! I have tons more questions!”
The door closed behind them, and the screen went black.
September 28, 2024
The Strange Ways of God and Writers
“Well, it’s clear things have changed a bit since I was last here.” Miss Kate Hamilton glanced around the long, narrow alcove decorated like an old-fashioned porch and smiled as she took a seat in the lone rocking chair. For a few seconds, she examined the odd wall in front of her that seemed to project the image of a prairie horizon, then shook her head and sighed. “I’m not like to make heads or tails out of it all even yet, but I’m told I’m brought here today to talk to—” She made a little uncertain motion with her hand. “—all of ye—wherever ye’re watching—about the strange ways God uses to bring His purposes to pass.”
“Ach, it’s true enough, for all that, and I’ve proved it for myself. Years given over to asking in my own heart whether God’s plans for me were spent. A trip to town that was none of my own making. An all but aimless walk to seek out what I knew was a senseless hope. And all of it came together to bring me—” She stopped and bit her lips together, but a soft light still shone in her eye as she glanced back into the shadowed hallway, toward the door she had first exited.
“But I’m not to tell all of that. Only to say that God answered my prayers and questions far beyond what I could even dream. Ye’re to read the story if ye want to know more. It was published last year in a collection called Everything, and now it’s here on its own with the same title. It’s only available through the author’s own store as yet, but she’ll work to put it in other places as soon as she’s able. And if ye want a chance to read it for free, I’m to offer it as soon as I tell this story.”
Miss Kate’s eyes twinkled as she let them run over the wide screen in front of her.
“Ye see, I’ve been told how the spark of my story came, and it’s as much proof as anything of the mysterious ways of the Lord. It was brought to her at a writing camp, she says, though she assures me the girls who came there had better to eat than beans and jerky. I don’t understand it all yet, but one day the conversation happened something like this…
Writer #1: Winter is on its way! We just saw our first robins!
Writer #2: I thought robins came in spring?
Writer #1: Depends on where ya live! Down south, we get our robins in the fall.
Writer #2: Ahhh. We northerners are losing our robins.
Writer #3: I'm slowly watching my beautiful robins disappear.
Writer #1: But just know that they're being thoroughly enjoyed in Texas!
Writer #3: As long as you take good care of them.
Writer #1: Oh, I will! I'll send them safely back up north next spring.
Writer #2: Thank you.
Writer #3: It’s appreciated.
“And somehow in God’s own plan and the unpredictable mind of a writer, the seed of my own story was planted. Yet somehow she says that’s not even the strangest way she’s been given a story idea.” Miss Kate shook her head with a bemused smile. “But that’s where this next piece comes in. She’s made a quiz for ye to try to match some of her other stories with the idea that started them. She’ll place it somewhere here so ye can find it. And if ye match at least five out of the ten, ye can send her an email at contact@quietwaterspress.com and she’ll send ye a code to get a copy of my story for free. Also, she apologizes that she couldn’t put the code into the quiz itself to make things simpler, but she’s searched everywhere and couldn’t find a way to manage it without paying an arm and a leg—I rather hope she was exaggerating a bit about that.”
“I believe that’s all I’m to tell ye, except that her new serial starts on October 4th, so she’ll show ye where to find it if ye’re interested. And if ye were reading it before and haven’t seen the update from this Friday, check to make sure it didn’t end up in some hidden folder after the break.”
The Chronic Warrior Chronicles
“Now, I’ve a hundred things to do, so I’ll be going back to them.” Miss Kate rose, and the door in the hallway opened for her. The lights in the long alcove slowly faded, and the screen went black.
