Angie Thompson's Blog, page 3

A Mystery Jumble

“All right, this is ridiculous!” A middle-aged woman in a neat business suit with Joanna haphazardly scrawled on her nametag wove her way to the front of the murmuring crowd. “None of us understands any more than the rest about why or how we’re here. But quite obviously, we’ve been given a task, and most likely, we won’t receive any answers until we complete it.” She motioned almost unnecessarily to the large sign on the endmost door that most of the group had approached to study at least once in their otherwise confused milling. “You.” She nodded at the teenager nearest the door, whose clothes and hairstyle put him several decades before the current year. “Read it out loud, so we can stop this constant shuffling.”

The boy—Greg, if the much neater lettering on his nametag was to be believed—looked a little startled, but he turned without argument and read the instruction in a clear voice that carried easily to the end of the greenery-draped hall.

“Find the thread that connects all of your stories.”

The group of strangers eyed each other searchingly, some gazes open and curious, others calculating and wary.

“So.” Joanna clapped once to command everyone’s attention again. “Does anyone have a suggestion for how we go about finding the connecting thread?”

After a few seconds, a girl with the label Ellen, whose plain blouse, split skirt, and high boots gave her the appearance of having just walked off a western movie set, cleared her throat.

“I think it’s pretty easy to see we don’t all come from the same place.”

Several faces broke into smiles at this observation, and a few sets of stiff shoulders relaxed.

“Maybe we should start from that end.” A watchful young man tagged as David, who seemed to have appointed himself guardian of the fragile girl in the wheelchair marked with Kris, spoke up for the first time. “Name what else we’re sure we don’t have in common, and then maybe we’ll see more clearly what’s left.”

“Well, for sure the thread ain’t age.” A young man in dusty, travel-stained clothes and a battered cowboy hat, wearing a hastily scrawled Henry on his tag, motioned to the alert and watchful white-haired man marked Charles, who sat next to him on the room’s one small bench.

“I doubt very much that it’s our station or—circumstances.” The woman with Vida pinned over a lace-trimmed Edwardian-style dress gave an somewhat apologetic glance at the man across from her, whose label of Kane was the only thing about him not range-worn and bearing a rather strong scent of sheep.

“It’s…definitely not our gender?” The young woman tagged Kayla spoke for the first time, then blushed cherry red as several eyes turned toward her. “Sorry—way too obvious.”

“No more than anyone else has been.” A young man wearing a badge marked Donnie, who appeared a few years older and about a decade earlier than Greg, shot her an encouraging smile and shrug, and Kayla hesitantly returned the grin.

“It’s not our race,” came softly from a Hispanic woman with a faint Carmen on her tag.

“Not even our era of history.” The teen marked Lexi eyed the dress of the girl sloppily labeled Betty, who stood next to her. “Forties?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t even begin to guess yours.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to.” Lexi laughed. “But I don’t see how this is actually helping us. What do we have in common, if not for all those things?”

“We’re all human?” A young black boy with Jayson stuck to his chest lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, and the rest of the company went silent a moment, as if waiting for a signal.

“Well, yes, we’re certainly that.” The young woman with Ida pinned neatly to her old-fashioned nurse’s uniform offered him a smile. “But it seems that isn’t the answer we were looking for. There must be something more that connects us.”

“Does it, though?” A modern girl about her age with Tasha pinned to her sweater cocked her head thoughtfully. “Maybe we’re looking at it all wrong. Did the note say the thread connected us? Or was it our stories?”

There was a stir among the group, and then Greg’s voice rang out again.

“No, she’s right! It does say our stories. But—what stories? It can’t mean to comb back through our whole lives!”

“Perhaps if we all take the last meaningful thing that happened, or the last lesson we learned?” A young woman with Jane pinned to her plain dress, the bloom of girlhood still on her cheeks, and the advent of motherhood evident in her figure spoke softly, and her companions slowly took on varying attitudes of thoughtfulness.

“Well?” Joanne roused the group after a few moments of contemplation. “Someone give us a starting point. What themes have sprung to your mind? The rest of us can say whether they ring true for our own lives.”

“Accidents?” A teen girl marked Layla surveyed the group with interested eyes. Several heads nodded, but others shook, and she stepped back with a shrug.

“Family?” The stylish young woman with Samantha on her coat offered the next suggestion, and a chorus of “yes” seemed poised to confirm the answer, until a timid girl with a worn dress, calloused fingers, and a tag of Blanche mustered the courage to shake her head.

“I’m sorry, no. It’s been years since…” She trailed off with a painful swallow, and her neighbor stepped into the breach with a kind smile.

“Children?” She fingered the scribbled Kelsey on her badge as she waited the result, but even more heads were shaken this time. All eyes turned to the girl next to her, who looked as though she’d rather disappear into the wall than answer. Kelsey and Tasha both opened their mouths as though preparing to cover for her when she surprised everyone by blurting “strangers?” before retreating further into the collar of her coat and the attached label, which read Tess.

More heads were shaken this time, and a boy in a school sweater more than a century old and bearing the name of Ned proposed “friendship.” This idea was pounced on eagerly by many, and others were still considering hesitantly but looked like they might be swayed when Henry spoke up from the bench again.

“I don’t see how I could fit my story to that—’less you count my horse, which I reckon most wouldn’t.”

A collective groan rose from several quarters, but no one suggested that the horse be included, and looks of resignation and despair were settling on a number of faces when Kris laid a feeble hand on David’s. He leaned down to listen, then straightened with a sudden joyous light in his eye.

“She wants to know if the thread could be Christmas. I know it could for me. What about the rest of you?”

There were gasps, cries of delight, and exclamations of relief from all sides, until the collective gaze came to rest on an older man who had remained silent through the whole ordeal and whose suit pocket seemed to have swallowed his name, leaving only the word Professor visible. His eyes narrowed, and his frown deepened as the room held its breath, but finally he burst out with a deep sigh.

“Christmas. Of course it’s Christmas! Of all things in the world, it had to be Christmas!”

A door farther down the hallway popped open, revealing a smaller hallway with multiple doors opening off of it, and the entire group rushed for it as though chasing a Christmas goose, though in the spirit of the season, several held back to let Jane and Kris enter ahead of them.

When the door closed behind the last of them, the author poked her head out of her office and took the sign from her door, then smiled in the direction of the screen where the audience watched.

“Of course it was Christmas. And if you’re utterly confused by who all of these people were, you should pick up a copy of Glad Tidings, my flash-fiction Advent calendar that’s just turned two years old. As you can see, it’s packed with all kinds of settings, themes, and characters, but the one thread that centers it is Christmas—and the reason we celebrate. If you celebrate it yourself, I hope you have a merry Christmas, and if you don’t, I hope you pause and think about the miracle of the Incarnation and what it means, in your own time and your own way. God bless, and I’ll see you next year!”

She lifted the remote, and the decked hall faded as the screen went black.

Buy Glad Tidings

Learn More

Thanks for reading Angie Thompson's Author Updates! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Six Years Strong

“You said there’s—” Levi swallowed hard as he watched the dark screen in front of him. “How many people—watching us?” He leaned against the wall, face like chalk and eyes glassy as he raised a fist to his mouth.

“Does it help that a lot of them already know your story and love you to death?” The author winced and shot a nervous glance over her shoulder, and DaVonte scoffed.

“Seriously? What did you think would happen? You dump something like that on us and then shove us out here to perform for an audience?” He crossed his arms, and the woman sighed.

“All right, so I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I can’t just do a celebration of your book anniversary without him. He’s one of the main characters of your story. At the very least, you could be thankful that I didn’t bring Peyton out here.”

“Oh, man.” Levi moaned, and the author moved as if to touch his shoulder, then thought better of it.

“I doubt my readers would appreciate that any more than you would. But they’d never forgive me if I left you out of it. This doesn’t have to be a big production. Just a couple announcements, and then you can go. And nobody’ll care if you mess it up. I promise.”

“You’re seriously not helping.” DaVonte glared at her and jerked his head toward her office, where she disappeared without another word. Then he walked over to the wall and crouched to put himself on a level with Levi’s slumped form. “Hey, man. You can do this. I can handle the talking. You just…don’t get sick or pass out on me, okay?”

“This is beyond embarrassing,” Levi mumbled, and DaVonte cracked a wry grin.

“Can’t be worse than what they’ve already seen, right? If she’s telling the truth and they know our story?”

“No, I mean that. You at least did the right thing from the start. You think I want—some of the worst failures of my life—broadcast to an audience?”

“Come on, man, you never heard of a redemption arc? Because whatever you did wrong, I’m positive you more than made up for it.”

Levi groaned, and DaVonte cuffed his shoulder lightly, then held out his fist.

“You’re going to make me do this now?” Levi squinted up at him with a pleading expression, but DaVonte held his position until Levi reached up a shaky fist and tipped it against his. “Fish sticks.”

“Joan of Arc.” DaVonte grinned, and Levi sighed as his shoulders relaxed a little.

“You realize we just confused—” He motioned vaguely in the direction of the screen with a little shiver. “—everyone?”

“Not quite,” came in a quiet voice from the author’s office, and DaVonte’s grin widened as Levi shook his head.

“That too? Really?”

“It’s…a fan favorite?”

“Is it just me, or does she not sound at all apologetic?” Levi shot a scowl at the open door, and DaVonte offered him a wink.

“Not the littlest bit. You ready to do this?” He motioned to the screen, and Levi swallowed hard.

“I thought—you said you had it.”

“Yeah, sure, fine. I’ll do it. You got my back?”

“All right…for all the good I’d do.”

“Nobody I’d rather have next to me.” DaVonte lightly cuffed his elbow before turning to face the screen. “Okay, sorry about all that. I guess, for whoever’s out there, this month’s apparently the sixth anniversary of the book with our story being published, and I guess it’s supposed to be a big celebration. Not sure how throwing us in the middle of this with no warning helps with that, but—” He shrugged. “I’m obviously not in charge here.”

“And neither of us can explain how our book apparently kicked off all…this.” Levi nodded cautiously down the hall.

“Right?” DaVonte chuckled. “But in honor of the anniversary—our book’s available for free from Black Friday through Cyber Monday—along with a couple hundred other books, including a bunch more by our author and a whole lot of other authors. All the books are either free or 99 cents, so if that’s your thing, be sure to check it out.” He tapped his fingers against his legs for a few seconds, then glanced over at Levi. “Was that it?”

Shop the Sale

“I…was barely listening.” Levi winced. “But—do they know how to find it? Did she tell us what it’s even called?”

“Not that I remember.” DaVonte cocked his head curiously toward the door, and after a second’s pause, the author’s voice came back softly.

“Bridgers. The book’s called Bridgers.”

“Well…” Levi licked his lips, then nodded. “I guess that fits.”

“Sure does.”

A door far down the hall cracked open, spilling a soft light into the darkness.

“That’s probably our cue.” DaVonte motioned to Levi, who almost sprinted from the wall to the open door but paused to look back before entirely disappearing through it.

“You coming?”

“Yep. Coming. I guess…enjoy your books!” DaVonte shrugged in the direction of the screen, then clapped Levi on the shoulder, and the boys disappeared through the door together.

Get Bridgers FREE

The author stole quietly out of her office, locked the door from the control on her wrist, then faced the screen with a suspiciously soft smile.

“And thank you all for coming along with me.” She raised the remote but paused before touching the button. “Happy six years, and here’s to as many more as the Lord allows.”

She turned back to her office, and the screen went black.

Thanks for reading Angie Thompson's Author Updates! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Return to Homewood

“Well.” Magda surveyed the children gathered in the hallway with a somewhat dazed expression as the door shut behind her. “That certainly wasn’t what I expected to find.”

“What was it?”

“Where are we?”

“Who was that?”

“Aunt Magda, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing.” Magda came back to herself a little at Len’s anxious tone and sat down on the hallway floor, motioning the little brood to join her. Dale immediately plopped himself into her lap, while Bertie cuddled up against her shoulder, and Teddy pressed in close on her other side. Len hesitated a moment before settling carefully next to Bertie, and Magda offered a reassuring smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to explain it properly, but I’ll do my best. Bertie-bird, you know the little play-people in your head that you love to tell us stories about? Well, if the lady in there is being truthful, then we’re exactly that to her, and our story is one of the ones she’s decided to tell to the world.”

“We’re in a story?” Teddy’s eyes popped wide, and Magda gave a helpless little shrug.

“I suppose we are. I truly can’t think how we would have ended up in this place if we weren’t—and so far from our own time too.”

“What time is it, Aunt Magda?” Bertie’s face was bright with curiosity, but Dale’s voice cut in anxiously.

“Are we late for supper?”

“No, Downy, Mother’ll wait supper on us, I’m sure. We’re nearly seventy years in the future is all—or she is—or something. Don’t ask me to explain too much; I’m afraid I don’t nearly understand it yet.”

“Ohhh!” Bertie squealed with excitement. “Do they have machines that fold the laundry?”

“And jetpacks?” Ted bounced on his knees as though ready for instant flight, and Magda chuckled.

“I’m afraid I didn’t quiz her on the realities of the future. I was much too busy trying to wrap my head around it all to think about anything else. Although she did say that flying cars don’t seem any nearer in her time than they were in ours.”

“I want a flying car!” Dale put in eagerly, and Magda gave him a wry smile as she chucked his chin.

“I’d settle for a car that’s willing to keep its wheels working, thank you. And speaking of that, I ought to get back to it while there’s daylight left, so let’s do what we were brought here for, shall we?”

“What’s that?” Len’s forehead puckered a little, and Magda reached over to squeeze her hand.

“Just to tell her audience, which is watching us through that—” She waved toward the screen at the end of the hall. “—that our story, which released last year as part of A Homewood Christmas, is now available as a separate novelette, either right now through her own store or as a preorder everywhere else.”

Buy Home Forever

Preorder Home Forever

“What did we do to make a story?” Bertie questioned thoughtfully, and Magda laughed again as she tweaked one of the brown curls.

“I’m not entirely sure, Bobby-bird, except that it’s a Christmas story. Which do you think our nicest Christmas was?”

“When you came home,” Dale answered without a second’s hesitation, and Teddy nodded solemnly in agreement. Magda blinked hard as she pressed a kiss to the younger boy’s hair and smiled over his head at the older one.

“Then maybe that’s the story she told. But there’s another announcement we need to make. Our author wasn’t able to write another Homewood story this year, but some of her friends have, and their book is out today. And Len, I’ve been told that you have a story in this book too, even if she doesn’t.”

“Me?” Len appeared nearly ready to fall over. “Why me? What could I do?”

“I don’t know, darling, and neither does she—yet—but she hopes to soon, and anyone else that’s interested can join her in finding out more about Homewood and its people through some of her favorite authors.”

Buy Another Homewood Christmas

A modest, well-worn door cracked open a little way down the hall, and Magda pushed to her feet.

“I think that’s our signal to go home, don’t you? Let’s not keep supper waiting!”

The children raced eagerly back through the door, except for Len, who followed slowly, blinking and shaking her head in a perplexed way. Magda gave her a reassuring smile and put an arm around her shoulders as they stepped over the threshold and the door closed behind them.

Thanks for reading Angie Thompson's Author Updates! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

A Star Interview

“So…hold on. You’re saying we don’t actually live in space?” Riley turned and squinted up at the author behind him as she followed the two boys out of her office.

“Well, you do in a sense. As much as you live anywhere. But no, we haven’t actually developed the technology to let people live in space long-term yet. Let alone travel to planets outside our solar system. All of that was made up for the sake of your story.” She motioned them to the stools that had been set up in the hallway, and the boys slid into the places indicated as she took her own seat.

“So, all the planets and ships and ports and everything—you made all that up?” Riley’s eyes were stretched to their widest point. “Was it hard?”

“Naming the ships and planets and things—not really. Trying to wrap my brain around the theoretical physics of faster-than-light travel—yeah, there’s a reason I didn’t get too far into those details.” The author chuckled as she glanced at the paper she held.

“Wait, but—” The smaller boy spoke up with a puzzled frown. “Aren’t our months named after spaceships? Did you make those up too?”

“Half of them are real history; the rest I made up.” The author smiled over at him. “And in case you’re wondering, Luca…Vostok, Mercury, Gemini, Apollo, and Mir are all real milestones of spaceflight; Vanguard, Pegasus, Hope, Elysium, and Dauntless haven’t happened yet—if ever.”

“So you made up, like, half the history of space exploration just to write our story?” Riley was leaning so far over he almost slipped off his stool. “Whoa! So wait, was it like, you had this space idea, and we just ended up being in it?”

“No, Riley, you were the seed of the idea from the very beginning. You and your dad, and a spaceship, and your favorite adventure show. It took me a while to see where it would go from there, but those pieces all made it in.”

“Wait, hold on! So you wrote Jake’s show too? Or is it real, and you just put it in?”

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to be asking you questions here!” The author laughed. “Yes, I wrote everything of Jake’s show that we saw in the books, although I did take some ideas from different shows that I know. That ended up being more fun than I expected, especially when I found a way to work it into the rest of what was going on in your story. Which wasn’t terribly hard, since your thoughts kept going back to Jake so often.”

“I uh—really like it?” Riley grinned sheepishly, and the author smirked.

“Yes, you do. And food too—I’m positive I’ve never had to plan and describe as many meals as I did for your story, because that was something you definitely noticed! Speaking of which—” She glanced at her paper again. “You mentioned in the story that orange flavor is your second-favorite soda, but you never told me or anyone what your first favorite is.”

“Oh. Strawberry. Definitely. I just don’t see it very much.” Riley shrugged and turned to Luca. “What’s yours?”

“We don’t get it a lot. But I like the regular stuff, I guess—like the lime-lemon flavor?” He glanced up hesitantly, as though gauging the author’s reaction, and she smiled.

“So what kind of food is your favorite, Luca? Is there something special your mom makes?”

“Mmm.” Luca closed his eyes. “Everything she makes is good, but I think the lasagna is best.”

“And is it hard for her to get the ingredients to cook on a spaceport?”

“Um, not really. They count it all in the deliveries for the kitchen, and then Momma and Mina and anyone else who likes to cook their own gets it from there.” He squinted up at her and cocked his head. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s more fun to let you say it.” The author chuckled. “Why don’t you tell me about Mina? How long have you known her?”

“Oh…” Luca lifted his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head slowly. “Ever since we came to Etzio. I don’t really remember. I was two when we got there. It was right when Talia was born. My dad didn’t even know we were going to stay here at first. They were looking for where we should go, and then Talia came, and it was hard for Momma, and they met Mina and found out the port needed a church, so we stayed. The commandant wasn’t a Christian back then, but Mina was.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” The author’s mouth curved up, and Luca glanced at her and smiled a little.

“There’s a lot of stories there. But you knew that too.”

“You’re very smart, Luca. All right, Riley, one more question for you, and then I’ll let both of you ask one more for me. I know it wasn’t the most exciting life, but what was your favorite thing about growing up on Kondor?”

“Umm…” Riley thought for a minute. “Oh, birthdays. Definitely birthdays. We always did all of my favorite stuff, and at the end, we’d go out somewhere away from all the lights and watch the stars. It felt almost like being in space.”

“I can see how that would be special to you.” The author’s voice was soft. “Okay, quick, before you go back, what else do you want to know from me? Luca?”

Luca scrunched his forehead in thought for a minute, then his face brightened.

“Momma’s new baby—is it a boy or a girl?”

“A boy. You deserve a bit of evening out.” The author’s smile was reflected in Luca’s eyes. “And you, Riley?”

Riley’s face grew thoughtful, and his eyes flicked from Luca to the floor to the wall before raising slowly to the author again.

“Is—is my dad—really happy—with what I picked?”

“Yes, Riley.” The author’s voice was soft. “And not just that, but he’d have been devastated if you’d picked anything else. You really do mean that much to him.”

Riley let out a long breath and sat up straight again.

“Okay, is that all? Is it over?”

“Well, almost.” The author winked. “There are a couple of things I wanted you to help me tell the audience about. Besides yourselves, I mean.”

“Oh, right!” Riley turned eagerly to face the camera. “Because if you haven’t read our story yet, One in a Galaxy is on sale for a dollar off in the store here through Wednesday!”

One in a Galaxy

“But didn’t you say all your books are a dollar off? Including your new one? And that makes some of them free?”

“Good memory, Luca.” The author nodded. “Yes, everything in my own ebook store is on sale, including my short stories. Be sure to check them out if you’re interested.”

Shop the Sale

“Oh, and if you have ideas about more interviews you’d like to see, or questions you want to ask them, you should put them in a comment or use the form she’s going to give you.” Riley glanced back at the author again. “Did I miss something?”

Feature Suggestions

“No, I think that’s all. Thanks again to everyone reading, and sorry it took so long to get this one out. I’ll try to see you again before the month is over. Go on back home, boys.” She motioned toward the door with one hand and lifted the remote in the other. “That’s all for now!”

New Collection and ARC Opportunity

“You’ve…been here before?” Emmalie looked curiously up at her sister-in-law from her comfortable wheeled chair, and Jaelyn gave her a tight nod as her eyes flitted around the hallway.

“I’ve never remembered it before this, but yes.”

“Was it—very terrible?” Emmalie’s forehead puckered a little, and Jaelyn gave a startled blink as her eyes returned to her companion.

“Terrible? No, it wasn’t. Confusing, most definitely. And—hard to take in the thought that everything we’ve been through—are still going through—is nothing more than words in a book. But we weren’t hurt in any way. Why do you ask?”

“You look like you expect a whole army to sweep through one of those doors and carry us away.”

A stifled snort came from the author’s open door, and Jaelyn glared in its direction.

“If you’re going to continue to make us do your work, the least you can do is refrain from comment.” She returned her gaze to Emmalie’s face, and her eyes softened. “No, darling, I don’t expect anything of the sort. It’s only that—well—the first time, I was here with Loegan, and—”

“And he’s much more capable of protecting himself than I am.” Emmalie’s tone held quiet acceptance, and Jaelyn winced.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I didn’t think you meant anything, Jaelyn. I’ll never be the protector, always the one protected. I’ve made my peace with that.”

“You fill other roles that I can’t, Emmie. I’ve seen that more and more in the last years. What any of us would have done without you, I can’t imagine.”

Emmalie’s only response was a little shake of her head as she glanced back at the screen.

“When are we supposed to start?”

“She’s likely already started it.” Jaelyn rubbed her forehead with a grimace. “At least, she did the first time we were here.”

“Yes, I have!” The author’s voice sounded half amused and half exasperated. “Which I didn’t think to mention because you have done this before. And you know what? The readers seem to enjoy your reactions when you don’t know you’re being watched, so I might just cancel that sign for my door. But yes, they can already see you!”

“Oh.” Emmalie’s pale cheeks flushed a little pink, and she turned a shyly apologetic gaze toward the unfamiliar device. “Forgive us. I don’t have much experience with this. Any experience, truthfully. And I know Jaelyn’s distracted watching out for me, so any blame should be laid at my feet.”

Jaelyn opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment, the author appeared in her office door, one hand on her hip.

“And that’s another thing! I haven’t even finished her story yet, and you know that. My files are never stacked that neatly, so I know you read something. What motive could I possibly have to hurt her?”

“More than you already have?” Jaelyn’s eyes narrowed, and she laid a protective hand on Emmalie’s chair. The author opened her mouth to respond, then swallowed and took a step back.

“That’s…fair. Will it satisfy you if I promise you’re both perfectly safe in this hallway? I’d never do anything here that would affect your story; anything of that kind would happen in your own world.”

“It would satisfy me more if you’d allow us to live our lives free from your interference.”

“What lives, Jaelyn? If I stop writing you, they stop here. Is that truly what you want? To leave everything unfinished and with only vague promises for what the future might hold?”

Jaelyn closed her eyes and leaned against the chair for a moment, rubbing uncomfortably at her stomach, and Emmalie reached up and grasped her hand.

“You did choose rather a bad time on a Sunday evening, when she ought to be resting. She’s had more than enough to worry about lately without adding on having to care for me in a place she doesn’t know well.”

“I did apologize for that.” The author winced, and Emmalie raised her eyebrows.

“No, you asked us to apologize to your readers that you didn’t get this finished yesterday as you’d planned. It’s not the same.”

“Then forgive me for not considering what I might be interrupting. And trust me that neither of you will have any ill effects from this when you return.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaelyn blinked hard and shook her head, and Emmalie gave her hand a little squeeze before letting it go.

“Don’t be, sister. Take a moment. I can tell them what she’s told us.” She turned back to the screen, watching the blank space with earnest eyes. “I’m told that some of you already know parts of our lives. It’s been a long two years between the end of Jaelyn’s story and what I suspect is the beginning of mine. But she—this author, I mean—thought you might like to see some of the events of those years, and how our country came to the state it’s in now. So she’s put together some new short stories, together with a longer one that was previously released in the Hope collection, and is preparing to release them as A Man and a Brother, with Scraps and Sketches.”

What will it take to rid the world of a tyrant?

A Man and a Brother

Inger Stein is no stranger to heartbreak and struggle, but when a trio of battered resistance fighters seek refuge at her door, her world is destined to change again forever. Can she convince her town that the sacrifice they ask is worth the hope they offer? Or will resentment and suspicion snuff out the country's chance for freedom?

(previously published as part of Hope)

Scraps and Sketches

Women may not have a place on the battlefield, but they hold no less of a stake in Merissa's valiant fight against her tyrant. This collection of six short short stories gives a glimpse into the progress of the resistance through the eyes of each of the Quiet Valor heroines. From a quiet wedding to a deserted market ground, from a crowded hospital tent to the besieged capital, from a distant farm to an overly busy inn, the echoes of the storm leave no one untouched. And each heart must find its own courage to stand strong in a changing world.

“You’ll get to see more of Jaelyn, Blenwyn, and me, as well as Inger, who we’ve only ever heard of but are ever so grateful to. And I’m told there are other girls who I haven’t met yet, but who you’ll spend more time with in the stories after mine. I hope I’ll also be able to meet them someday.” Emmalie glanced up at the author, who was watching her with a secretive little smile. “Is there anything more I missed?”

“Review copies.”

“Oh, yes. If you’d like to receive a free advance reader copy in exchange for an honest review, you can fill out the form that’s linked below, and she’ll get back to you when they’re ready. That should be all.”

Request an ARC

“I think that’s the fastest anyone’s ever managed the announcements once they started them.” The author’s smile was warm with approval. “Maybe I should have brought you on your own.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jaelyn glared, and the woman raised her hands in surrender.

“Never mind. You’ve both done your part. You can go home now.”

The door opened, and Emmalie gave a little wave toward the invisible audience before the author lifted her remote and the screen went black.

Subscribe now

Writing Camp and Sneak Peeks

“Are you serious?” Inger crossed her arms and glared at the shorter woman in the doorway. “Do you know how many patients are waiting on me right now? And you’ve brought me—wherever this is—to do what? Make announcements on behalf of someone I don’t even know to an audience I can’t even see?”

“Yes, and I don’t have time to argue with you right now. The sooner you do it, the sooner you can return.” The author turned back to her office, but Inger grasped her arm and held her back.

“And how is your failure to plan your announcements in time in any way my fault?”

“It’s not. But as of a moment ago, it’s now your problem. Just make the announcements, and you can go back.”

“I don’t see how I’m supposed to explain these when I can’t begin to understand them.” Inger fisted a hand on her hip as she flourished a hastily scribbled paper with the other. “What is a ‘King’s Daughters Writing Camp’? Some kind of royal mandate?”

“It’s not a mandate; it’s just what it says—a writing camp. Specifically, it’s an online camp for Christian girls and women who like to write. This July will be its third anniversary, and its tenth full camp. Sign-ups are open now, and the camp gates open June 27th. They can check out the website for more details, and use the form there if they’d like to join!”

King's Daughters Writing Camp

“Do I gather that you intend to be at this writing camp?” Inger raised an eyebrow, and the author sighed.

“Yes, of course I’ll be there. That’s half the reason I’m so busy right now!” She attempted to turn toward her office, but Inger cut in again.

“So how do I come into this at all?”

“I told you—it’s because I’m working on a set of short short stories to publish with your longer short story that was first published in the Hope collection, with a bunch more stories written by girls from camp, I might add. Which also means anyone who comes to camp this time might get to see snippets including you, and…other characters from the Quiet Valor series. And for fans of the series, it means I may have something coming out sooner rather than later, even if I haven’t finished A Hope and a Future yet.”

“I hope someone out there got something out of that, because I certainly didn’t.” Inger shook her head as she raised her eyes to the ceiling, then dropped them to the paper again. “And does this last announcement have anything to do with me? What are these other names that are scratched out?”

“No, that one’s not about you, but I don’t have the time to wrestle with anyone else right now. I just want my readers to know that if anyone read my story in the Seize the Love collection, it’s getting a sequel as part of the Seize the Fight collection, which is coming out on July 4th. If you’re interested in lovable characters, a cute seaside town, and a smidge of hidden trauma, you should check it out—along with the rest of the stories in the collection, which I’m sure are going to be amazing!”

Preorder Seize the Fight Ebook

Preorder Seize the Fight Paperback

More About Seize the Fight

“There. Congratulations. You’ve just made your own announcements.” A triumphant little smile quirked the corner of Inger’s mouth. “Can I go home now?”

The author’s mouth dropped open, and she glanced from Inger to the screen, down to the list of announcements, and back to Inger again.

“How did you—? Of all the characters I thought wouldn’t be trouble—”

“I believe you’ve gravely underestimated me. Or you’re distracted by preparing for this camp of yours. Perhaps a bit of both.” Inger walked a few paces down the hall to the door she’d entered through only a few minutes before. “Now, will you keep your promise? My patients are waiting.”

“Your patients, or your husband?” The author raised an eyebrow, and Inger shrugged a shoulder.

“Perhaps both.”

The author shook her head and pressed a button on her wrist, and Inger waited only for the click of the door before pushing it open and disappearing through it.

The author glanced at the screen, then sighed and reached for her remote. She disappeared into her office, muttering something about tents and writing games, and the picture faded to black.

Thanks for reading Angie Thompson's Author Updates! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Some Uncommon Updates

“Okay…” Brady glanced at Harper as she stepped out of the office behind him. “How weird is it that my life makes so much more sense after finding out I’m actually a character in a book?”

“I know, right?” Harper giggled and bounced on her toes. “Not just a book, a whole series! How cool is that? Oooh, I wonder if I can get a copy to read when we get home!”

“Harper…” A sigh that was almost a groan followed the author’s voice from her office. “I told you, you’re not going to remember any of this once you go back through that door. Obviously, that includes taking back a copy of your own story. This superhero concept is strange enough as it is; I’m not adding the extra layer of you guys knowing it’s fiction.”

Harper pouted a little, and Brady snorted.

“You actually blame her? I feel like I know why she brought you out here today and not Rachelle.”

“Huh? Wait, why?” Harper blinked in confusion, and Brady shook his head.

“You want to tell Rachelle you’re the one responsible for everything bad that’s ever happened to her—or to Grace?”

“But I’m not…” Harper’s voice trailed off as her eyes rounded. “Ohhh, I get it! You think she’s actually scared of her?”

“I am not!” A chair scraped against the floor, and the author appeared in the office doorway with her arms crossed defensively. “I just—don’t want to spend the time it would take to explain to her right now.”

“Is that the same reason you didn’t invite Dash?” Harper’s grin stretched wider as the author swallowed hard and braced her feet.

“Why is this suddenly about me? I brought the two of you out here for a job, which you said you could do, and I was hoping to get it accomplished without too much drama. That’s all!”

“Definitely scared,” Brady whispered, and Harper giggled.

“Too bad neither of us has our powers right now. I wonder what kind of cool stuff we could find out if she didn’t know we were there.”

“I know about your powers, Harper.” The author rolled her eyes. “I wrote your powers. And you’re not the first one to try to snoop, but you might be the least subtle about it. Why on earth would I let you in here powered up? That’s basically giving my secrets away.”

“Just one tiny spoiler? If I won’t remember it anyway?” Harper put on her most pitiful puppy look, and the author sighed.

“I’m not spoiling things for the whole audience just to make you happy.” She motioned to the dark screen next to them, and Harper’s eyes went wide again.

“It’s on? Now?”

“Great. Since when?” Brady closed his eyes, and the author turned and marched into her office, muttering something about needing to buy an “IT’S ALREADY ON” sign for the back of her door.

“A little warning would be nice!” Harper shouted after her, yanking her blue hair out of its tight French braid and shaking her head to let the strands fly loose around her flushed cheeks.

“Uhh, you good?” Brady’s brow furrowed as he watched her, and Harper sucked in a breath and put on a smile.

“Yep! So we’re here for what—announcements? Please tell me you remember what they are.”

Brady let out a little snort as he turned to face the screen.

“Yeah, so, announcements. First off, I guess the second installment in our series is coming out soon. It’ll be releasing June 1 on all the regular ebook stores—the day before our next ‘adventure’ starts on Substack.”

Preorder Uncommon Sense

“Ooh, I remember this part!” Harper raised her hand as if requesting permission but didn’t even pause before she continued. “You can preorder it right now in all the usual places, or, if you want it early, then it’s available today at the author’s own store! And if you haven’t bought an ebook directly from an author before, it’ll come with instructions for how to read it on whatever device you have. Or you can still wait two weeks and get it wherever you’re used to. Hey, did you bring your phone?”

Brady shook his head, and a loud sigh came from the author’s office.

“You’re not getting it that way either, Harper. Finish the announcements, please.”

“What else?” Harper glanced back at Brady, and he grinned.

“Speaking of the author’s store, I guess she hasn’t actually announced that it’s open yet, so now you know. She’s really excited about it, not just because purchases there make her more money, but because she can do a few cool things with sales and special offers that she can’t on the other stores. So look out for more deals coming in the future, and in celebration of the official announcement, you can get half off our second book, Uncommon Sense, using the coupon code GRANDOPENING. And remember, you can always get the first one for free.”

Buy Uncommon Sense (1/2 off with coupon)

Get On the Brink FREE

Explore the Rest of the Store

“And if you want to follow along in the next story, starting in June, don’t forget to sign up for the serial! I can’t wait to see what happens next!” Harper clapped her hands, and Brady winced.

“Not sure I agree, since I seem to be the target of ‘what happens next’ at the moment.”

“Come on, it’s not all bad! You met us, didn’t you? And got to help—whoops, I guess I probably shouldn’t tell, should I?”

“Probably not.” Brady smirked, and Harper stuck out her tongue.

“Well, I’m just saying, it could be worse! You could be…I don’t know…stuck with Dash on a mission?”

“Harper!” The author’s cry made them both jump, and Harper threw a confused look toward the office door.

“What? I was just—” Harper stopped and sucked in a breath as her mouth rounded into an O. “Wait, seriously? Did I just guess something right? Because I totally want to read that now!”

“Just go home, Harper.” The author groaned, and a nearby door popped open. Harper shrugged and disappeared through it, but Brady turned back to the office with a wry grin.

“You said your goal was no drama, but you deliberately brought Harper along. Absolutely no sympathy.”

“Go home, Brady. And get some rest. You’ll probably need it.”

“Thaaanks.” Brady rolled his eyes as he followed Harper through the door and shut it with a bang. 

A quiet sigh wafted from the office, and the screen went black.

Subscribe to the Serial

Love and a Typewriter

“Was that…extremely weird, or is it just me?” Anna turned to her companion with a raised eyebrow that she knew he couldn’t see and a quizzical inflection in her voice that she knew he couldn’t miss.

“Which part of it?” Lev’s smile creased his face beneath his dark glasses. “Learning we are characters in a story, or being asked to tell about it ourselves?”

“Either! Both?” Anna threw up her hands.

“She is a writer.” Lev shrugged as though nothing more needed to be said, and Anna rolled her eyes.

“In the year we’ve known each other, I don’t recall you ever asking your characters to announce something so that you don’t have to.”

“Ah, but I do not write fiction only. This is a difference.”

“And the whole finding out we’re characters in a story thing wasn’t the slightest bit unsettling to you?”

“I suppose no.” Lev cocked his head for a moment, then shook it thoughtfully. “The part of our story she has written turned out well, yes? I would not have existed—or met you—without her.”

“But—you don’t think it’s just a little freaky to find out someone else is directing everything that happens to you?”

“Life has not been easy for you, Anya.” Lev reached for her shoulder and let his fingers trail down her arm to squeeze her hand. “But we are never in control. In real life as in stories, there is always an Author directing things for good, even when we cannot see. It is a question only of whether we trust the author we are given.”

Some of the tension left Anna’s shoulders, and she drew a slow breath.

“And you trust her?”

“She trusts Him. This is enough. Besides—” He tapped a barely-visible earpiece with his finger. “HALEY has been reading to me from her website. You would like this kind of story, I think.”

“Wait, you brought HALEY?” Anna’s eyes went wide as a sudden squeak of consternation came from the open door next to them.

“Not for any set purpose, only I did not think to leave it.” Lev shrugged, but the corner of his mouth turned up in a grin as the shuffling of papers and clicking of keys in the office intensified. “What do you think she fears we will find?”

“Nothing!” The author’s voice was a bit too forceful, as though she was working to convince herself as much as them. “HALEY’s an AI language model, not a mind-reader, and I haven’t written down any of my ideas for a sequel yet. And it doesn’t exist in any of my other story worlds, so…” She let out a sigh as though finally believing her own words. “Fine. Use HALEY if you want. Just introduce yourselves, please!”

Anna’s lips twitched as she turned to the screen and guided Lev to face it with the slightest pressure on his arm.

“How will we know when it’s starting?” She glanced back over her shoulder, and a huff sounded from the office.

“It’s been on since you walked out there, but apparently everyone has to have a conversation about who I am and what I’m doing first. Which, fine, I don’t care, but you’re doing it in front of the entire audience!”

“Oh.” Anna’s cheeks flushed pink, but Lev seemed not at all embarrassed as he smiled into the darkness.

“Hello. We are Lev and Anna, as you already know unless this author is more terrible than we think. We are asked here to tell you of our story, which was published in February with twelve others in a collection called Seize the Love.”

“Our story is apparently called Wanted: A Typewriter.” Anna wrinkled her nose and glanced away, and Lev chuckled.

“You think it is not fitting?”

“I think it sounds weird.”

“It is what caused us to meet.” Lev’s smile softened, and Anna ducked her head.

“I know, but—didn’t she say the typewriter was her inspiration? How does a picture of an old typewriter turn into a futuristic story involving you, me, and HALEY?”

“She is a writer.” There was unmistakable conviction in Lev’s voice this time. “Who can say how a story grows as it does from its first spark, or why it takes one turn and not another? Our story is not usual, but it is sweet. And other stories in the book you may like as well. Love is not always romantic, and it shows itself in so many ways. I am happy that the collection shows this, and I love that we are part of it.”

“You love it, do you?” Anna’s voice turned playful, and Lev reached for her hand.

“I love many things, Anya. So many things…”

One of the nearest doors unlatched with a slight hiss, and Anna winked at the screen as she turned them toward it.

“I think that’s our cue to get out of here before we start spoiling too much. You’ll find the links you need below. And maybe you’ll see us around someday, but I wouldn’t dare promise what might happen in the mind of a writer.”

The door closed behind them, and the screen went blank.

Buy Seize the Love

Add on Goodreads

More About Seize the Love

About Everything

“She wants us to do what again?” Loegan stared incredulously at his sister.

“Your ears work just as well as mine.” Jaelyn gave him a resigned shrug and turned to face the screen at the end of the hallway.

“Doesn’t help when the words make no sense.”

“And this is going to take longer if you argue about it. She says we’re stuck here until we finish.”

“If it’s all the same to ye, laddie, I have family to return to as soon as we’re through here, so I’d rather not waste time, if it can be helped.” The middle-aged woman who stood nearby, introduced to them only as Miss Kate, shot a glance at a small door down the hall, through which a child’s laughter and a muffled cough could briefly be heard.

“I still don’t even see how this door exists.” Loegan’s scowl deepened as he rattled the latch nearest him for probably the fifteenth time. “Give me a hairpin or something.”

“And you didn’t understand why she made you empty your pockets.” Jaelyn crossed her arms and shot him an exasperated look. “Isn’t doing what she wants a faster way out of here than trying to escape? And do you think she couldn’t pull us right back here again if you did?”

“I’d like to see her try,” Loegan muttered, and his sister rolled her eyes.

“If she’s really our author like she claims, then it’s not like you have much of a choice. Although—” Jaelyn cut the thought off just in time. The woman had swept the notes off her desk as soon as she caught Jaelyn’s eyes on them, while Loegan’s attention was still held by the details of the room’s odd light sources. And telling him just how much power he seemed to wield over whatever parts of their story she might be writing would only intensify his stubbornness and make this take longer than it already was. “Let’s just do as she’s asked. It seems harmless enough.”

“As she’s asked, or as she’s demanded? I thought we didn’t bow to tyrants. Besides, how do we know it’s not some nefarious code phrase that’ll plunge the world into chaos?”

“Loegan, be serious.” Jaelyn nodded at Miss Kate, who stood watching them with a bemused smile that still carried a trace of concern. “Who does she remind you of? What could there possibly be in introducing her story to plunge the world into chaos?”

“Don’t use Blenwyn against me.” Loegan narrowed his eyes, but his face softened a little as he glanced toward their companion. “All right. Fine. This author person did say she’d open the doors again as soon as we finished this?”

“Aye, laddie. She promised faithfully.”

Loegan gave a little huff and turned to the screen, offering an obviously false smile through gritted teeth.

“Loe…” Jaelyn started, but he silenced her with a glare.

“Maybe she can make me do it, but she can’t make me like it.”

Jaelyn sent Miss Kate an apologetic glance, and the woman returned an understanding smile.

“My nephew Lee would say much the same. Never mind, lass. Miss Thompson must have known the risk when she asked ye here.”

“That’s true.” Jaelyn’s eyes laughed as she surveyed her brother. “Maybe his stubbornness is one of the reasons she says her readers love him.”

“Jaelyn!” Loegan’s jaw dropped, and his ears flushed red. His sister’s grin widened as she turned to the screen.

“Hello, anyone who can see us. We’ve been asked here today to introduce Miss Kate to you, since our author says it’s easier to write as us than as herself.”

“Which still makes no sense,” Loegan muttered, and Jaelyn elbowed him in the ribs. “Fine! Apparently Miss Kate’s story was published last month when this author person was still doing a terrible job of sending out her own updates, and she forgot to include it. So she’s making us tell you instead. Jaelyn, this is ridiculous!”

“Miss Kate’s story is called ‘Everything’—” Jaelyn started again, but her brother’s sharp whisper of “Code phrase!” cut her off. “Loegan Rolfe, do you want me to tell Emmalie how you’ve acted in front of whatever number of strangers are watching us?” Loegan grimaced and dropped his gaze, and Jaelyn sighed as she turned back to the screen. “I apologize for my brother.  We’ve been through a lot lately, and from what I gathered in my visit to Miss Thompson’s office today, it’s not over yet. She says it’s still a priority, but there have been other projects that needed to be finished first, and I guess Miss Kate’s story was one of those. Can you tell us a little more about it, Miss Kate?”

“I’m sorry my story’s delayed yours, lass, although I can’t say I’m sorry for my own sake.” Deep gratitude suffused the older woman’s face as she lifted reverent eyes to somewhere beyond the screen. “It’s nae grand tale, to be sure, only a testament to the way God works His will in everything, even when we can’t see His plan. And if ye can believe, Miss Thompson says the robin that began it for me was the very spark of the story for her. Something as simple as a robin. Who would have thought?”

There was silence for a moment as Miss Kate pondered, and Jaelyn watched her as though somehow drawing strength from her quiet faith. But finally Loegan’s eye caught hers, and she bit back a smile at the pleading expression that asked “are we finished here?” as clearly as the words he was obviously struggling not to voice.

“You can find Miss Kate’s story in the Everything collection with twenty other stories and poems by Christian authors who apparently all attend the same writing camp.”

Buy Everything

King's Daughters Writing Camp

“You mean there are more like her?” Loegan shot a look of horror toward the only open door in the hall. “Does that mean other people who go through the same kinds of things as us?”

“From what I saw in her message box, that seems probable.” Jaelyn sighed as Loegan’s eyes went calculating, probably trying to judge how much work it would take to free the characters belonging to an entire camp full of writers. “If you’re curious about Miss Kate’s story, you can buy the Everything collection or add it on something called Goodreads. I hope you know what that is because I don’t, but Miss Thompson promises she’ll link the things you need.”

Add Everything on Goodreads

With a sudden hiss, two doors popped open, and a little boy toddled out of one of them and flung himself at Miss Kate.

“Ach, Bobby-boy, what’re ye doing here? Your mother’ll be frantic! Come, let’s get ye back where ye belong.” She scooped the child up and hurried back through the door, shutting it firmly behind her, and Jaelyn cocked her head at her brother.

“I thought you’d be the first back of all of us.” She motioned to their own open door, but Loegan’s gaze was thoughtful as it returned from where the long hallway disappeared in the distance.

“Jaelyn, you don’t think…all these doors…”

“Home, Loegan. Emmalie’s waiting.” Her brother almost jumped for the door, and Jaelyn turned to follow, but she suddenly caught the twinkling eyes of the author, now standing at the threshold of her office.

“Thanks for that.”

“You have no idea.” Jaelyn rolled her eyes. “I saw the stack of your story files. And I suggest you clear your search history before Loegan learns how to work that machine. Do I even want to know why you’ve saved so much information about so many diseases?”

“Oh…” The author twisted her hair nervously. “That’s not for you. Well, most of it.”

Jaelyn narrowed her eyes as the fingers of her right hand flexed and clenched, but she finally shook her head and turned away, shutting the door behind her with a definitive click.

“Okay, then.” The author winced a little guiltily as she pressed a button on her wrist to seal the doors, then turned away to scribble a note. “That went pretty well, all things considered. What do you guys think?”

She pondered the screen thoughtfully for a moment, then lifted a remote control, and the world went black.

More About Everything

(Special thanks to Malachi, whose idea I totally stole; to Hanna, who reminded me of it; and to Mom, who came up with the concept independently at almost the same time.) :D

New platform, new format, new start!

I mentioned in my last newsletter that I wanted to rethink my approach to updates and find ways to remove some of the barriers that have kept me from being consistent in the past. And while I expect it to take me a while to fully settle in, you can tell I’m making a beginning!

Photo by Ross Findon on Unsplash

Here are some of the changes I’m looking at…

1. New platform

To be honest, my old newsletter platform was difficult to work with. Too many buttons to hit. Menus I always needed hidden in places that I couldn’t remember. Having to re-learn unintuitive processes every time I opened the site. Basically, the platform I was using was frustrating enough that “I don’t have the energy/brain power to put out a newsletter today” had become a lot more than a lame excuse.

On the other hand, I had started using Substack last year to publish my serial story, The Chronic Warrior Chronicles, and found it much easier to keep up with, even when I was running on fumes. So when I sat back and took stock of just how much the old platform was getting in my way, Substack was the obvious switch. My hope is that by getting the platform frustration out of the way, I’ll have more time and thought to give to the newsletter itself.

2. New format

As I mentioned in my last letter, writing out a plain update is hard for me. It’s not just this newsletter either—letters, emails, basically any kind of casual writing that isn’t fiction apparently comes from a totally different place in my brain than where my stories live. “But you’re a writer,” they say… Yep. I can’t explain why it’s not the same, but there you have it.

However, I do have updates to get out! Sales, promos, new releases—I can’t just sit back and expect you to find out about these things through the whispers on the wind. (Though wouldn’t that be lovely?)

Enter—

3. New plan

Okay, well it’s more of a hazy idea at the moment, but I want to find and create content to share with you that feeds the fiction-writing part of my brain—the part that I’m excited to share with you all. My hope is that focusing on this will help me get over the hump of “I don’t know what to write” and past the pit of “but there’s nothing new to update on!”

I’ll be playing around with what exactly this looks like, whether it’s sharing snippets of existing stories, spotlighting favorite characters, or creating exclusive sketches based on random prompts. If you have any ideas, or any opinions on what’s working and what’s not, please chime in and let me know! As much as I’m rethinking what works for me, the goal remains to get you content you enjoy on a consistent time frame.

4. New start

Some of you have stuck with me through some very dry years. (And I’m sure that some of you have signed up for too many author newsletters over the years and just ignored all of them, which is entirely fair!) If you don’t like where this goes, or just decide you need a break for a while, no hard feelings. But if you do decide to stick with me, I’m going to do my best to give you better updates more consistently than I’ve managed before.

My hope is to send these approximately once a month (with a flexible schedule around time-bound announcements like sales, new releases, etc.). Your next installment should be complete with something from the creative side of my brain—any ideas, send them my way!

Until then, thanks for sticking with me and for all your support over the years as I continue to figure this out. God bless, and happy reading!

~ Angie
contact@quietwaterspress.com

Thanks for reading Angie Thompson Author Updates! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.