Grace A. Johnson's Blog: Of Blades & Thorns, page 11

it's the holiday season

It's the holiday season...and Santa Claus is comin' 'round, the Christmas snow is white on the ground! When ol' Santa gets into town, he'll be tellin' y'all all about my Christmas season book sales!

Okay, y'all know that's not how the song goes, BUT that doesn't mean I don't have a ton of epic sales going on!!!

Mark your calendars for...December 12th, when Prisoner at Heart is completely FREE on Kindle until December 16th! (That's next Monday through Friday!)

And as soon as PAH's sale wraps up, Bound and Determined will also be FREE for the VERY FIRST TIME on Kindle from December 19th (Monday) until December 23rd (Friday)!!! So if you didn't get the preorder price or just haven't had the chance to order your copy or are a little light in the pocket area *coughs*, then now's your chance!!! You won't wanna miss this sale, because BAD won't be this cheap for a while, folks!

My next two sales aren't freebies (because I can't give print books away for free), but they are still epic!

The Gift of Her Heart, my Christmas novella and companion to Held Captive and Prisoner at Heart, which also made the #1 spot on Kindle's bestselling free historical Christian romance list, is discounted in paperback format from $7.99 to $5.99! (And the ebook version is only $0.99, if you missed the freebie sale last week!)

And my thirty-day devotional (which was in the top ten bestsellers in Kindle's free Christian devotionals), With Fear and Trembling is also discounted from $9.99 to $5.99! This devotional would make a perfect Christmas gift for anyone on your list, since I wrote it to be meaningful and impactful to readers of all ages and stages of life!

Plus, if you're in the mood for a quick Christmas read, I've got TWO Christmas short stories available to read FOR FREE here on my blog! Check out parts one and two of Home for Christmas, a WWII story, and A Christmas to Remember, a short scene about Rina's first Christmas with her family!

Happy reading, y'all! Oh, and I'd love to hear all about your favorite Christmas reads down in the comments!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#sale #onsale #free #readforfree #boundanddetermined #christmas #kindle #prisoneratheart #thegiftofherheart #withfearandtrembling #homeforchristmas #achristmastoremember #shortstory #shortstories #bestseller #devotional #novella

featured story: everything by katja labonte

Y'ALL. I am well and thoroughly ashamed of myself for never sharing this story! (And the two others I'll be posting soon.) This was one of the many amazing entries into my picture prompt short story contest back in the summer, and even though it didn't place, I still wanted to share this lovely story by Katja Labonte!

everything by katja labonte

JaneEtta sighed as she tugged on her door-handle. This car is falling to pieces. But without Lester…

The door gave way, and she staggered back on her high heels. Catching herself, she threw her pocketbook into the passenger seat and slipped into the car, slamming the door behind her. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. It was only five o’clock, but she was already drained. Working as a receptionist had never been her plan; but then, neither had a world-wide war.

“Wait for meeee!”

The girlish shriek rang out in the street and JaneEtta rolled her eyes, snatching back her pocketbook as Sandra whipped open the passenger door and popped in.

“It’s so bright out there; I could never walk home in this glare. I’d go stark staring blind!”

Sandra giggled and settled herself in a great rustle. JaneEtta sourly ignored her. She was in no mood to deal with Sandra’s overdone makeup, ridiculous hairstyle, and expensive, daring new outfit. JaneEtta felt a sudden unkind pride in her own sensible skirt-suit and hat. At least she was fairly decent, even if she had allowed herself the weakness of heels.

Ensuring that her skirt was loose and allowed her legs movement, she started the motor and pulled away from the office with a clunky roar.

“They’ll hear us coming blocks away,” Sandra said with another giggle. “You should call this car Rachel Lynde.”

JaneEtta did not respond. The sun’s rays outside and Sandra’s brightness inside mocked her mood. Why couldn’t it be grey and drizzly instead, like in the novels? Why couldn’t Sandra be glum and silent? Sunshine belonged in the past; laughter had no part in the present.

The sun is always shining behind the clouds.

JaneEtta rolled her eyes. Right. ‘You just have to look past the clouds to see it—and pretty soon it shows up again.’ Isn’t that so, Lest?

Too bad her cousin couldn’t hear her sarcastic answers to his gentle rebukes that echoed in her memory.

“Coming to the lecture tonight?”

“No,” JaneEtta retorted brusquely. Sandra knew better than to invited her out after work.

“Oh, Janey, it would do you good,” Sandra protested. “You’re too glum. You’re like a—a Miss Havisham!”

JaneEtta’s eyebrows rose in spite of herself. She hadn’t expected Sandra to even know about Great Expectations, let alone the characters thereof. A mental prick startled her conscience. Once upon a time, she’d considered Miss Havisham ridiculous. Now, she understood the woman. Did that make her… bad?

She quickly smothered the thought.

“You know Miss Havisham, right?” Sandra pressed. “Mona said you were practically the world’s foremost expert on classics. Dickens is a classic, isn’t he? He’s long-winded enough to be…”

JaneEtta almost smirked cynically before she caught herself. As a child, books and daydreams had filled her days. She’d tramped Sherwood with Robin Hood, defended Scotland with Sir William Wallace, sailed the seas with Ishmael, solved mysteries with Sherlock Holmes, explored islands with Robinson Crusoe. She and Jimsy had run all over London together, scaling roofs and clearing buildings at a leap as they hunted down criminals and foiled enemy spies. The adventures they’d shared shone in her memory like a golden coin in a box of brass pennies.

“What ho, m’lady! Art going to His Majesty’s banquet tonight?”

“Aye, good sir. Art thou?”

“Indeed, madam. May I have the honour of attending your most precious self?”

“My grateful thanks, Sir James.”

“And me too, Sir Jimsy?”

“Yes, indeed, Miss Anne. How old art now?”

“I’m nearly eight!”

“A most precocious and avant-garde sister, m’lady.”

“Indeed, sir. She is most deaf to the lessons of our good teacher.”

“I can’t talk like Netta can, Jimsy!”

“Don’t cry, pet, you’ll learn. May I have your arm, Miss Anne? And you, m’lady Jane?”

“Are you Jane Grey who’s going to be beheaded, Netta?”

“No, I’m only simple Lady Jane… ah… Reginald.”

“These are the castle stairs. Watch your steps, m’ladies. This fog is most dastardly…”

“Jimsy, I want a cloak like yours!”

“Art cold, miss? Allow me…”

“We should make more cloaks, Jimsy! Then we’d all have some!”

“Most clever of you, I’m sure, miss.”

“Are we playing Medieval Scotland or are we playing Victorian Britain? That’s my train, Jim; don’t step on it!”

“Sorry, sis—I mean, m’lady. Welcome to the banquet hall. What ho, minstrels! Strike up. Do not fear the gentlemen on the stairs, madams—they are loyal knights dedicated to your service and protection. A letter…? Thank you, Thomas. Ah—His Majesty is unable to attend tonight. We must join him at Guildhall tomorrow.”

“That’s in London, sir!”

“I crave your pardon, m’lady; I am afraid that my geography is somewhat weak. Thomas, bring a parchment; I must write to the King at once!

“Let’s seal it with Granny’s old ring, Jimsy! We’ll be the Scarlet Pimpernel sending orders to Sir Andrew.”

The half-smile that had begun in JaneEtta’s soul faded as tendrils of bitterness wrapped around the slender joyous stem, crushing out its life. The Spanish Flu had no mercy for even healthy, happy twenty-year-old brothers. Life was cruel.

“You know Great Expectations, right?”

Sandra was a human mosquito in persistence and noise, if not in looks.

“Yes,” JaneEtta snapped.

Sandra settled her purse higher up on her lap and was quiet. JaneEtta was perversely pleased.

The cornfields were a mass of gently-waving green and gold. It wasn’t long until harvest, when the world would throb and roar with the machines.

I hate corn.

Her conscience pricked again. Not really. I just hate anything that bothers my personal comfort. She grimaced at the thought.

“How did you come here, Jane?”

“Do I look like I want to talk tight now, Sandra?” JaneEtta burst.

“No, but you look like you need to,” Sandra giggled. “What brought you out here?”

“A train,” JaneEtta said shortly.

“Why?”

“Because I needed money!” JaneEtta’s voice was rising, and she didn’t care.

“Natch,” Sandra retorted airily. “The boss doesn’t pay us enough for that. You came out here running away from something, JaneEtta Danson.”

JaneEtta grimaced. Before her mind’s eye old memories were flashing—memories of a heart-rending funeral; of a night seething in rage and pain; of silent goodbyes drenched by love ones’ reproachful tears; of a fiercely silent train ride across the country, fleeing… fleeing… fleeing… what? Why?

Jonah.

The words stung. She wasn’t a Jonah… or was she? No, she had to think of something else.

An ear-splitting shriek pierced her consciousness as Sandra snatched JaneEtta’s arm and jerked it from the steering wheel. Screaming back, JaneEtta slammed the breaks and glared wildly for whatever she had—or nearly had—hit.

“Looook! Isn’t he handsome?”

JaneEtta groaned and hid her face, collapsing like a jelly removed from its mold. “Sandra Byrd,” she said fiercely, “if you frightened me out of a year’s growth just to drool over a Tommy—”

“Hardly much of a growth, O small and fierce Helena, and greatly to be lamented. But for the sake of clean air, don’t call us Canucks ‘Tommies.’ I’m not particularly fond of ‘blue’ air.”

JaneEtta dropped her hands and gasped.

“Furthermore, I am aware of your former instructions to come back ‘with my shield or on it,’ but unfortunately, the Canadian army’s shields are alarmingly unfit for even my humble size—”

“Lester, Lester!” Miracle of miracles, the car door gave way at the first frantic tug, and JaneEtta tumbled into her cousin’s uniformed arms, as hysterical as is proper for a heroine.

“Hello to you too, coz…” Lester grinned and hugged her briefly, then pushed her back and scrubbed at the mud staining his jacket. “Fences,” he explained apologetically. “They have just as much of a vendetta out here as they did back home.”

“I thought you were in Ontario shipping out!” JaneEtta cried.

“Quote me correctly, honey. My exact words were, ‘I suppose I shall be sent to Ontario or someplace East to ship out.’ As this stolid East is rather as vast a place as our own Wild West, I ended up in la belle province, in the army base not far from this charming French-Canadian town which, by the way, is a preparatory saunter through Germany. Delightful people, though, albeit what they don’t say in German wouldn’t cumber a fly.”

“You and your ridiculous metaphors,” JaneEtta said with fond tolerance, brushing more mud off his jacket.

Lester raised a forefinger to emphasize a pompous speech, backed up for proper effect, tripped over a loose log, staggered wildly, and collapsed onto his back, his glasses sliding neatly down to the edge of his nose. Behind them, Sandra screeched her laugher and rocked to and fro on her high heels.

With a resigned sigh, Lester scrambled to his feet, wiped his hands on his pants, and offered one to Sandra, giving JaneEtta the long-suffering look of a martyr who had been dragged to the stake as the finishing touch to an inauspicious day.

“Lester Ford,” he said, blinking in placid fortitude.

“Sandra Byrd,” JaneEtta introduced them ungraciously, as Sandra seized Lester’s hand and pulled it close.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Lester murmured, telegraphing an agonized appeal to JaneEtta. She reached out and took his arm, jerking him away from her coworker.

“Would you like a guide through town?” Sandra cooed, ignoring JaneEtta and batting her eyelashes at Lester, her over-red lips pursed in an affected pout.

“No… plans…” Lester stammered, wildly uncomfortable and forgetting every word he ever knew. “Coz…?” He looked helplessly and hopefully at JaneEtta.

“We’ll see you later, Sandra,” JaneEtta said crisply, leading Lester towards her car. Sandra’s attractive pose disappeared in a flash as she shot JaneEtta a venomous glare.

“Where are we going?” JaneEtta asked, as soon as Lester had closed the car door upon them.

“For someone so sure of herself, you sound remarkably lost,” murmured Lester, adjusting his glasses.

JaneEtta rolled her eyes. “I rescued you from a predicament you were too polite to end yourself. Where are you taking me?”

“Does dinner and a lecture sound like sufficient payment?” Lester asked meekly.

“But I told Sandra I wasn’t going.”

“Then I shall have demonstrated my sublime persuasion skills. By the way, that charming friend of yours shall fly away someday,” Lester added in annoyance, accidentally making eye contract with Sandra and setting off another burst of eye-batting.

“I don’t understand why she hasn’t already,” JaneEtta said sarcastically. “I swear her eyelashes get longer every week, and her head is a perfect balloon as far as emptiness goes.”

“And from that Cupid’s bow came the banshee-worthy shriek that would have frightened Napoleon back into his bed and saved Moscow?”

JaneEtta laughed in spite of herself, and Lester grinned proudly. “I understand, however, that she was the means of you getting this triumphal chariot, for which I bow to her with my hand on my heart. Mrs. Morphe told me the story of the Geezer.”

“Give an old boy some respect. He’s toughed out more things than you,” JaneEtta returned severely.

“Not to strengthen the stereotype, fair coz, but your old boy looks like he could use some work,” Lester retorted, wrestling wildly with the motor and knocking his glasses nearly off his face.

“Not to strengthen the stereotype, but I’m hopeless playing Rosie the Riveter,” JaneEtta mumbled.

“Nothing a few knocks with a screwdriver won’t fix,” Lester said, brightening.

“It won’t hurt, anyways,” JaneEtta answered gloomily.

“Cheer up, coz. How do fries and a burger sound as balm to an afflicted mind? Mind you, I recently learned that French fries are not French but Belgian. The usual anglophone misunderstanding, of course…”

***

The evening was still and golden. Far in the west, the sun still held night at bay. Crickets and frogs sang in harmony, with the wind whistling the tune.

Seated at the outside table, JaneEtta hummed along to the smooth waves of piano and violin floating out from the radio inside the restaurant.

“Remember our first piano lesson?”

JaneEtta rolled her eyes, but a small smile forced its way to her lips. Lester’s earnest but verbose, over-complicated instructions; her own impatient, irritable disposition; and an audience of merry little siblings was not a recipe for success. An old-fashioned squabble had ensued, in which Lester had forgotten both dignity and vocabulary and JaneEtta had recourse to the usual feminine weapon—tears.

“I haven’t played in forever,” she said, taking the last French fry.

“Really, ma’am, you’re ruining my reputation as a teacher,” Lester began, snatching at the fry and breaking off half. JaneEtta snorted.

The piano piece ended, and a waltz began crooning through the air. Lester grinned.

“Still good on your toes?”

“Better than you, soldier.”

“That’s a challenge.”

Before she could protest, they were standing hand in hand, holding each other’s shoulders and swaying gently to the dreamy melody.

“You have gotten remarkably kinder to my toes,” JaneEtta said graciously.

“Poor Aunt Margie’s feet were not sacrificed in vain. How is the dear woman, and all the ‘folks back home’?”

JaneEtta stiffened, which was not conducive to graceful dancing. “Oh, they’re all right,” she answered vaguely. “I don’t hear from them very often, you know. Dreadfully busy.”

“You mean you don’t write to them, do you,” Lester said shrewdly.

JaneEtta frowned and gave up on dancing altogether. She pulled away from Lester and ran petulantly back to her seat. When he came over and sat back down, she turned her back more squarely upon him. The silence was uncomfortable.

“It’s nice out here,” Lester said suddenly, his voice unusually thoughtful. “Hard to think that across the world, murder is happening within these very same surroundings…”

JaneEtta shivered unexpectedly. Perhaps it was cliché, but she had always understood when book characters drank in nature and reflected with amazement on the wickedness of mankind. She’d never expected to experience this herself… but then, what was fiction but pictures of life, after all?

“Who would have thought, when we said goodbye last fall, where we’d meet again?” Lester mused on. “I admit that I was frankly disgusted at being put here and gave the Lord an earful about it at first. Never guessed I’d run into you. Isn’t it a splendid reminder that everything turns out to our good?”

“That’s not the right words,” JaneEtta mumbled, trying to stave off the oncoming exhortation. She had been wishing for him only a little while ago… but that must be merely a coincidence.

“I wasn’t quoting the verse, merely stating a fact. Really, coz, the older I get, the more I see the ‘bad’ things that happened to me aren’t so bad after all, since the Lord turns them into such glorious things.”

“What about Jimsy?” JaneEtta demanded fiercely. “What about Uncle Perry?”

Lester’s lips whitened, but his voice remained steady.

“Father’s death was terrible. But good still came out of it, Netta. It was at his funeral that poor old Jerome was saved… and you know how Father prayed over him.”

“And Jimsy?” JaneEtta cried. “You can’t find any good in Jimsy’s death, Lester Danson!”

“Jimsy’s death kept him safe, JaneEtta,” Lester said sturdily, locking gazes with her. “The Good Lord knew it was best for him to go. The work he had to do here was done, and it was time for him to enter his reward. If he had stayed, it wouldn’t have been good for him. I firmly believe that, Netta. That’s why I can surrender Father and Jimsy and the others who’ve died around me, because I know they are more blessed now than I can possibly imagine; they are happy and peaceful; and this is the best thing that could ever happen to them. I love them enough to want the best for them… and I know the Lord’ll take care of the ones who are left behind—which He has, if you only look for it.”

“Everything cannot turn to our good,” JaneEtta hissed.

“Would you rather believe that than believe that it does?” Lester demanded. “Would you rather live in the hope that whatever hardship you’re in will someday be worth something? Or would you rather just think that the pain is pointless and merely a blind chance that torments you forever?”

A sudden illustration filled JaneEtta’s mind. Two paths littered with stones and pierced with holes, running along a high cliff that bordered a frightening chasm. Over each hung a dark raincloud, making the paths dangerously slick.

But along one path ran a rope, rough but sturdy, to cling to when one’s feet gave way. And peering down this path, one saw the clouds shift a little, giving comforting glimpses of blue skies or bright rainbows.

JaneEtta blinked, and the image faded from her mind. She put a hand to her heart. Did she really want to go down the path without the safety rope, the path where the raincloud had no promise of ending?

“Lester,” she said desperately, “I don’t want to. But I can’t see how anything good has possibly come from all the bad things that have happened to me—the fire, that school, Abbie…”

“Faith doesn’t work by sight, Netta,” Lester said quietly. “You just have to believe that it is so because you trust the One who said it.”

“Just like I believe the rope will hold me even if I can’t see that it will, just because I trust the ones who put it up,” JaneEtta whispered to herself.

“It’s hard,” Lester admitted. “I know it’s hard. But it’s doable… and it’s worth it… and He’s trustworthy, Netta.”

He shrugged eloquently, words failing his earnestness. He could do no more. This choice she must make herself, in her own heart.

“I hope I can, Lest,” she choked through rising tears, feeling that this was indeed a momentous occasion.

Lester was silent for a moment, then he took her hands in his. “Lord,” he whispered, “please open her eyes and her heart.”

JaneEtta bowed her head, echoing his prayer. Please, Lord… show me Your redemption of my pain.

And as Lester wrapped his own arms around her, giving the comfort she’d yearned after for so many weary months, a whisper slipped through her mind.

He already has.

Isn't that such a lovely reminder? If you haven't yet, I highly recommend checking out Kat's blog here, where she shares more beautiful thoughts and updates! Let me know down below what y'all thought of her story!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#featuredstory #shortstory #ww2

Featured Story: Everything by Katja Labonte

Y'ALL. I am well and thoroughly ashamed of myself for never sharing this story! (And the two others I'll be posting soon.) This was one of the many amazing entries into my picture prompt short story contest back in the summer, and even though it didn't place, I still wanted to share this lovely story by Katja Labonte!

everything by katja labonte

JaneEtta sighed as she tugged on her door-handle. This car is falling to pieces. But without Lester…

The door gave way, and she staggered back on her high heels. Catching herself, she threw her pocketbook into the passenger seat and slipped into the car, slamming the door behind her. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. It was only five o’clock, but she was already drained. Working as a receptionist had never been her plan; but then, neither had a world-wide war.

“Wait for meeee!”

The girlish shriek rang out in the street and JaneEtta rolled her eyes, snatching back her pocketbook as Sandra whipped open the passenger door and popped in.

“It’s so bright out there; I could never walk home in this glare. I’d go stark staring blind!”

Sandra giggled and settled herself in a great rustle. JaneEtta sourly ignored her. She was in no mood to deal with Sandra’s overdone makeup, ridiculous hairstyle, and expensive, daring new outfit. JaneEtta felt a sudden unkind pride in her own sensible skirt-suit and hat. At least she was fairly decent, even if she had allowed herself the weakness of heels.

Ensuring that her skirt was loose and allowed her legs movement, she started the motor and pulled away from the office with a clunky roar.

“They’ll hear us coming blocks away,” Sandra said with another giggle. “You should call this car Rachel Lynde.”

JaneEtta did not respond. The sun’s rays outside and Sandra’s brightness inside mocked her mood. Why couldn’t it be grey and drizzly instead, like in the novels? Why couldn’t Sandra be glum and silent? Sunshine belonged in the past; laughter had no part in the present.

The sun is always shining behind the clouds.

JaneEtta rolled her eyes. Right. ‘You just have to look past the clouds to see it—and pretty soon it shows up again.’ Isn’t that so, Lest?

Too bad her cousin couldn’t hear her sarcastic answers to his gentle rebukes that echoed in her memory.

“Coming to the lecture tonight?”

“No,” JaneEtta retorted brusquely. Sandra knew better than to invited her out after work.

“Oh, Janey, it would do you good,” Sandra protested. “You’re too glum. You’re like a—a Miss Havisham!”

JaneEtta’s eyebrows rose in spite of herself. She hadn’t expected Sandra to even know about Great Expectations, let alone the characters thereof. A mental prick startled her conscience. Once upon a time, she’d considered Miss Havisham ridiculous. Now, she understood the woman. Did that make her… bad?

She quickly smothered the thought.

“You know Miss Havisham, right?” Sandra pressed. “Mona said you were practically the world’s foremost expert on classics. Dickens is a classic, isn’t he? He’s long-winded enough to be…”

JaneEtta almost smirked cynically before she caught herself. As a child, books and daydreams had filled her days. She’d tramped Sherwood with Robin Hood, defended Scotland with Sir William Wallace, sailed the seas with Ishmael, solved mysteries with Sherlock Holmes, explored islands with Robinson Crusoe. She and Jimsy had run all over London together, scaling roofs and clearing buildings at a leap as they hunted down criminals and foiled enemy spies. The adventures they’d shared shone in her memory like a golden coin in a box of brass pennies.

“What ho, m’lady! Art going to His Majesty’s banquet tonight?”

“Aye, good sir. Art thou?”

“Indeed, madam. May I have the honour of attending your most precious self?”

“My grateful thanks, Sir James.”

“And me too, Sir Jimsy?”

“Yes, indeed, Miss Anne. How old art now?”

“I’m nearly eight!”

“A most precocious and avant-garde sister, m’lady.”

“Indeed, sir. She is most deaf to the lessons of our good teacher.”

“I can’t talk like Netta can, Jimsy!”

“Don’t cry, pet, you’ll learn. May I have your arm, Miss Anne? And you, m’lady Jane?”

“Are you Jane Grey who’s going to be beheaded, Netta?”

“No, I’m only simple Lady Jane… ah… Reginald.”

“These are the castle stairs. Watch your steps, m’ladies. This fog is most dastardly…”

“Jimsy, I want a cloak like yours!”

“Art cold, miss? Allow me…”

“We should make more cloaks, Jimsy! Then we’d all have some!”

“Most clever of you, I’m sure, miss.”

“Are we playing Medieval Scotland or are we playing Victorian Britain? That’s my train, Jim; don’t step on it!”

“Sorry, sis—I mean, m’lady. Welcome to the banquet hall. What ho, minstrels! Strike up. Do not fear the gentlemen on the stairs, madams—they are loyal knights dedicated to your service and protection. A letter…? Thank you, Thomas. Ah—His Majesty is unable to attend tonight. We must join him at Guildhall tomorrow.”

“That’s in London, sir!”

“I crave your pardon, m’lady; I am afraid that my geography is somewhat weak. Thomas, bring a parchment; I must write to the King at once!

“Let’s seal it with Granny’s old ring, Jimsy! We’ll be the Scarlet Pimpernel sending orders to Sir Andrew.”

The half-smile that had begun in JaneEtta’s soul faded as tendrils of bitterness wrapped around the slender joyous stem, crushing out its life. The Spanish Flu had no mercy for even healthy, happy twenty-year-old brothers. Life was cruel.

“You know Great Expectations, right?”

Sandra was a human mosquito in persistence and noise, if not in looks.

“Yes,” JaneEtta snapped.

Sandra settled her purse higher up on her lap and was quiet. JaneEtta was perversely pleased.

The cornfields were a mass of gently-waving green and gold. It wasn’t long until harvest, when the world would throb and roar with the machines.

I hate corn.

Her conscience pricked again. Not really. I just hate anything that bothers my personal comfort. She grimaced at the thought.

“How did you come here, Jane?”

“Do I look like I want to talk tight now, Sandra?” JaneEtta burst.

“No, but you look like you need to,” Sandra giggled. “What brought you out here?”

“A train,” JaneEtta said shortly.

“Why?”

“Because I needed money!” JaneEtta’s voice was rising, and she didn’t care.

“Natch,” Sandra retorted airily. “The boss doesn’t pay us enough for that. You came out here running away from something, JaneEtta Danson.”

JaneEtta grimaced. Before her mind’s eye old memories were flashing—memories of a heart-rending funeral; of a night seething in rage and pain; of silent goodbyes drenched by love ones’ reproachful tears; of a fiercely silent train ride across the country, fleeing… fleeing… fleeing… what? Why?

Jonah.

The words stung. She wasn’t a Jonah… or was she? No, she had to think of something else.

An ear-splitting shriek pierced her consciousness as Sandra snatched JaneEtta’s arm and jerked it from the steering wheel. Screaming back, JaneEtta slammed the breaks and glared wildly for whatever she had—or nearly had—hit.

“Looook! Isn’t he handsome?”

JaneEtta groaned and hid her face, collapsing like a jelly removed from its mold. “Sandra Byrd,” she said fiercely, “if you frightened me out of a year’s growth just to drool over a Tommy—”

“Hardly much of a growth, O small and fierce Helena, and greatly to be lamented. But for the sake of clean air, don’t call us Canucks ‘Tommies.’ I’m not particularly fond of ‘blue’ air.”

JaneEtta dropped her hands and gasped.

“Furthermore, I am aware of your former instructions to come back ‘with my shield or on it,’ but unfortunately, the Canadian army’s shields are alarmingly unfit for even my humble size—”

“Lester, Lester!” Miracle of miracles, the car door gave way at the first frantic tug, and JaneEtta tumbled into her cousin’s uniformed arms, as hysterical as is proper for a heroine.

“Hello to you too, coz…” Lester grinned and hugged her briefly, then pushed her back and scrubbed at the mud staining his jacket. “Fences,” he explained apologetically. “They have just as much of a vendetta out here as they did back home.”

“I thought you were in Ontario shipping out!” JaneEtta cried.

“Quote me correctly, honey. My exact words were, ‘I suppose I shall be sent to Ontario or someplace East to ship out.’ As this stolid East is rather as vast a place as our own Wild West, I ended up in la belle province, in the army base not far from this charming French-Canadian town which, by the way, is a preparatory saunter through Germany. Delightful people, though, albeit what they don’t say in German wouldn’t cumber a fly.”

“You and your ridiculous metaphors,” JaneEtta said with fond tolerance, brushing more mud off his jacket.

Lester raised a forefinger to emphasize a pompous speech, backed up for proper effect, tripped over a loose log, staggered wildly, and collapsed onto his back, his glasses sliding neatly down to the edge of his nose. Behind them, Sandra screeched her laugher and rocked to and fro on her high heels.

With a resigned sigh, Lester scrambled to his feet, wiped his hands on his pants, and offered one to Sandra, giving JaneEtta the long-suffering look of a martyr who had been dragged to the stake as the finishing touch to an inauspicious day.

“Lester Ford,” he said, blinking in placid fortitude.

“Sandra Byrd,” JaneEtta introduced them ungraciously, as Sandra seized Lester’s hand and pulled it close.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Lester murmured, telegraphing an agonized appeal to JaneEtta. She reached out and took his arm, jerking him away from her coworker.

“Would you like a guide through town?” Sandra cooed, ignoring JaneEtta and batting her eyelashes at Lester, her over-red lips pursed in an affected pout.

“No… plans…” Lester stammered, wildly uncomfortable and forgetting every word he ever knew. “Coz…?” He looked helplessly and hopefully at JaneEtta.

“We’ll see you later, Sandra,” JaneEtta said crisply, leading Lester towards her car. Sandra’s attractive pose disappeared in a flash as she shot JaneEtta a venomous glare.

“Where are we going?” JaneEtta asked, as soon as Lester had closed the car door upon them.

“For someone so sure of herself, you sound remarkably lost,” murmured Lester, adjusting his glasses.

JaneEtta rolled her eyes. “I rescued you from a predicament you were too polite to end yourself. Where are you taking me?”

“Does dinner and a lecture sound like sufficient payment?” Lester asked meekly.

“But I told Sandra I wasn’t going.”

“Then I shall have demonstrated my sublime persuasion skills. By the way, that charming friend of yours shall fly away someday,” Lester added in annoyance, accidentally making eye contract with Sandra and setting off another burst of eye-batting.

“I don’t understand why she hasn’t already,” JaneEtta said sarcastically. “I swear her eyelashes get longer every week, and her head is a perfect balloon as far as emptiness goes.”

“And from that Cupid’s bow came the banshee-worthy shriek that would have frightened Napoleon back into his bed and saved Moscow?”

JaneEtta laughed in spite of herself, and Lester grinned proudly. “I understand, however, that she was the means of you getting this triumphal chariot, for which I bow to her with my hand on my heart. Mrs. Morphe told me the story of the Geezer.”

“Give an old boy some respect. He’s toughed out more things than you,” JaneEtta returned severely.

“Not to strengthen the stereotype, fair coz, but your old boy looks like he could use some work,” Lester retorted, wrestling wildly with the motor and knocking his glasses nearly off his face.

“Not to strengthen the stereotype, but I’m hopeless playing Rosie the Riveter,” JaneEtta mumbled.

“Nothing a few knocks with a screwdriver won’t fix,” Lester said, brightening.

“It won’t hurt, anyways,” JaneEtta answered gloomily.

“Cheer up, coz. How do fries and a burger sound as balm to an afflicted mind? Mind you, I recently learned that French fries are not French but Belgian. The usual anglophone misunderstanding, of course…”

***

The evening was still and golden. Far in the west, the sun still held night at bay. Crickets and frogs sang in harmony, with the wind whistling the tune.

Seated at the outside table, JaneEtta hummed along to the smooth waves of piano and violin floating out from the radio inside the restaurant.

“Remember our first piano lesson?”

JaneEtta rolled her eyes, but a small smile forced its way to her lips. Lester’s earnest but verbose, over-complicated instructions; her own impatient, irritable disposition; and an audience of merry little siblings was not a recipe for success. An old-fashioned squabble had ensued, in which Lester had forgotten both dignity and vocabulary and JaneEtta had recourse to the usual feminine weapon—tears.

“I haven’t played in forever,” she said, taking the last French fry.

“Really, ma’am, you’re ruining my reputation as a teacher,” Lester began, snatching at the fry and breaking off half. JaneEtta snorted.

The piano piece ended, and a waltz began crooning through the air. Lester grinned.

“Still good on your toes?”

“Better than you, soldier.”

“That’s a challenge.”

Before she could protest, they were standing hand in hand, holding each other’s shoulders and swaying gently to the dreamy melody.

“You have gotten remarkably kinder to my toes,” JaneEtta said graciously.

“Poor Aunt Margie’s feet were not sacrificed in vain. How is the dear woman, and all the ‘folks back home’?”

JaneEtta stiffened, which was not conducive to graceful dancing. “Oh, they’re all right,” she answered vaguely. “I don’t hear from them very often, you know. Dreadfully busy.”

“You mean you don’t write to them, do you,” Lester said shrewdly.

JaneEtta frowned and gave up on dancing altogether. She pulled away from Lester and ran petulantly back to her seat. When he came over and sat back down, she turned her back more squarely upon him. The silence was uncomfortable.

“It’s nice out here,” Lester said suddenly, his voice unusually thoughtful. “Hard to think that across the world, murder is happening within these very same surroundings…”

JaneEtta shivered unexpectedly. Perhaps it was cliché, but she had always understood when book characters drank in nature and reflected with amazement on the wickedness of mankind. She’d never expected to experience this herself… but then, what was fiction but pictures of life, after all?

“Who would have thought, when we said goodbye last fall, where we’d meet again?” Lester mused on. “I admit that I was frankly disgusted at being put here and gave the Lord an earful about it at first. Never guessed I’d run into you. Isn’t it a splendid reminder that everything turns out to our good?”

“That’s not the right words,” JaneEtta mumbled, trying to stave off the oncoming exhortation. She had been wishing for him only a little while ago… but that must be merely a coincidence.

“I wasn’t quoting the verse, merely stating a fact. Really, coz, the older I get, the more I see the ‘bad’ things that happened to me aren’t so bad after all, since the Lord turns them into such glorious things.”

“What about Jimsy?” JaneEtta demanded fiercely. “What about Uncle Perry?”

Lester’s lips whitened, but his voice remained steady.

“Father’s death was terrible. But good still came out of it, Netta. It was at his funeral that poor old Jerome was saved… and you know how Father prayed over him.”

“And Jimsy?” JaneEtta cried. “You can’t find any good in Jimsy’s death, Lester Danson!”

“Jimsy’s death kept him safe, JaneEtta,” Lester said sturdily, locking gazes with her. “The Good Lord knew it was best for him to go. The work he had to do here was done, and it was time for him to enter his reward. If he had stayed, it wouldn’t have been good for him. I firmly believe that, Netta. That’s why I can surrender Father and Jimsy and the others who’ve died around me, because I know they are more blessed now than I can possibly imagine; they are happy and peaceful; and this is the best thing that could ever happen to them. I love them enough to want the best for them… and I know the Lord’ll take care of the ones who are left behind—which He has, if you only look for it.”

“Everything cannot turn to our good,” JaneEtta hissed.

“Would you rather believe that than believe that it does?” Lester demanded. “Would you rather live in the hope that whatever hardship you’re in will someday be worth something? Or would you rather just think that the pain is pointless and merely a blind chance that torments you forever?”

A sudden illustration filled JaneEtta’s mind. Two paths littered with stones and pierced with holes, running along a high cliff that bordered a frightening chasm. Over each hung a dark raincloud, making the paths dangerously slick.

But along one path ran a rope, rough but sturdy, to cling to when one’s feet gave way. And peering down this path, one saw the clouds shift a little, giving comforting glimpses of blue skies or bright rainbows.

JaneEtta blinked, and the image faded from her mind. She put a hand to her heart. Did she really want to go down the path without the safety rope, the path where the raincloud had no promise of ending?

“Lester,” she said desperately, “I don’t want to. But I can’t see how anything good has possibly come from all the bad things that have happened to me—the fire, that school, Abbie…”

“Faith doesn’t work by sight, Netta,” Lester said quietly. “You just have to believe that it is so because you trust the One who said it.”

“Just like I believe the rope will hold me even if I can’t see that it will, just because I trust the ones who put it up,” JaneEtta whispered to herself.

“It’s hard,” Lester admitted. “I know it’s hard. But it’s doable… and it’s worth it… and He’s trustworthy, Netta.”

He shrugged eloquently, words failing his earnestness. He could do no more. This choice she must make herself, in her own heart.

“I hope I can, Lest,” she choked through rising tears, feeling that this was indeed a momentous occasion.

Lester was silent for a moment, then he took her hands in his. “Lord,” he whispered, “please open her eyes and her heart.”

JaneEtta bowed her head, echoing his prayer. Please, Lord… show me Your redemption of my pain.

And as Lester wrapped his own arms around her, giving the comfort she’d yearned after for so many weary months, a whisper slipped through her mind.

He already has.

Isn't that such a lovely reminder? If you haven't yet, I highly recommend checking out Kat's blog here, where she shares more beautiful thoughts and updates! Let me know down below what y'all thought of her story!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#featuredstory #shortstory #ww2

welcome to december (november wrapup + december goals)

You guys.

It’s here.

The end of the year is here.

Y’all. It is flippin’ D e c e m b e r.

I’m not even gonna remark on that.

We just gon’ keep on truckin’…

what I did last month

My goals were simple: release Bound and Determined and do what I didn’t do in October, which was (1) edit, (2) beta-read, (3) write guest posts, (4) read and review.

I obviously released Bound and Determined on the 17th of last month—even though I STILL have bonus scenes to write and send to my preorder-ers. *shakes at head self*

And I did do a ton of editing (finished two projects AND got started on another), even though every time I complete one project, two more pop up! (Definitely not complaining, though. I am super thankful for the work God is providing and the opportunities to work with, help, and invest in my fellow indie authors!)

I didn’t beta read...at all...for which I am ashamed. I’m now considering just waiting until Issabelle publishes the book and reading it then. Because she will publish it, no matter what she says. (Yes, I am forcing her to and threatening her with piracy if she doesn’t…)

ANYWAY. I completed all my guest posts, though, praise God! Super excited to share those with y’all in uno momento!

As for reading/reviewing...I actually read. A lot. Because I am insanely behind. So I forced myself to read more. As for reviewing, though, I got two reviews written and posted (yay!), but I still have four more to do by the end of the year (yeah...probably not gonna happen), AND I am reading and judging two books for The Selah Awards! (I hope that’s okay to share...*gulps*) This is such an exciting experience and a true honor!!!

this month’s goals

Naturally, finish all that reading and reviewing, complete three editing projects (yes, that’s a lot, so we’ll see), write two short stories, format TMYLM (which I should’ve done six months ago) and send it out to ARC readers, and that may be it? For now? We’ll see.

Oh.

And, you know, do Christmas stuff. That’s on the list too.

*winks*

monthly progress

Eh. Just a few hundred words in one of those overdue bonus scenes. Nothing much.

But gosh darn it, do I wanna write. Not doing anything for NaNo while everyone else is writing has been hard. *sobs*

reading highlights

I read, let’s see...about five books this month. Which is not a lot and yet also a lot.

Anyway…

My top read was hands-down The Lost Melody by Joanna Davidson Politano. This haunting novel, although not my favorite of hers, was certainly a pleasure to read (and review here)!

Next was Under the Texas Mistletoe by Karen Witemeyer, which was a witty and touching collection of three Christmas novellas, all of which I adored!

And my third favorite was The Landlady’s Master (or The Elect Lady) by George MacDonald. I’m not a huge fan of the ending (although I knew that was how it would end), but I loved the wisdom and truth MacDonald wove into this simple tale! If this is his worst book, so they say, I cannot imagine how wonderful his others are!

top blog posts

Let it be noted that NEVER in the history of the world have I EVER written so few blog posts in a month as I did in November. Like...what??? I was probably part of ten blog tours and twenty-seven cover reveals and I just conveniently forgot to post about them, because I literally only wrote seven posts.

Wow.

I hate to say it, though, as much as I missed y’all (SO. MUCH.), I liked not having to put together so many posts. My pre-New Years resolution is to pre-write a bunch of posts and schedule them way out over the year.

We’ll see how that goes…

Anyway, the top two out of seven posts from November are…

Welcome to November and the day hath arrived!

(Also, just a note if you haven’t caught on...I have begun writing my post title in all lowercase. No, I don’t necessarily agree with that from a grammatical point-of-view, but it is (1) so much more aesthetic that way and (2) I was hoping the lowercase letters wouldn’t get cut off when you view the posts on the blog page. They still do, but not as bad. So there’s that, in case y’all were wondering.)

follower updates

Boy howdy is this gonna be a long section… I’ll be posting on each of these topics separately, so I’ll try and keep this short.

(1) ARC signups are open for Tell Me You Love Me anthology!!! So if you’d like the chance to read and review this collection of sweet and clean Christian romances, check out the signup form below!

(2) The Gift of Her Heart, my #1 bestselling Christmas novella (which is a companion to Held Captive and Prisoner at Heart) is FREE on Kindle until Dec. 5th (Monday, if you were wondering), and the paperback version is discounted ALL MONTH LONG!

(3) I’m going to be sharing a ton of short stories with my patrons this month, so if you haven’t yet, you should definitely check out my Patreon!!! There’s a lot of fun, exclusive extras just for my patrons!

(4) In case you missed it, BOUND AND DETERMINED IS HERE!!! So that’s cool. *winks* If you’re interested in learning more about BAD, I highly recommend taking a look at the posts below!

guest appearances

Y’all, I had a TON of guest appearances in November, all in honor of BAD’s release! Well, almost all, that is! First up is my guest post for Teen Writers’ Nook’s rally, about turning your daydreams into your everyday! Next, a slightly ranting post about the love-to-hate-to-love trop on Writers’ Vision! My super fun release day interview with Vanessa Hall (here’s part one, in case you missed it)! And an intense series all about Rina’s arc on Kristina Hall’s blog—part one, two, and three!

And as for posts I’d didn’t write...a BAD review from Kristina and one from Vanessa, and release day celebration posts from Saraina and Abbigail!

So, inquiring minds must know...how was your November? Did you participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month)? Did you have a happy Thanksgiving? I wanna hear all about it in the comments!

Y’all have a wonderful December and a white Christmas full of peace and joy!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#welcometodecember #patreon #boundanddetermined #tellmeyouloveme #anthology #arcs #signup #sale #free #freebook #thegiftofherheart #onsale #readforfree #monthlyupdates #monthlywrapup #monthlygoals #readinghighlights #monthlyprogress #progressreport #topblogposts #followerupdates #guestposts #guestappearances #commentthesecretwordbelowtowin #thefirstcommenterwinsaprize #thesecretwordiseggnog #bestofluck #ohandthanksforreadingmyhashtags #itmeansalot

december eve blog party pt. 2

Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too. Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!

Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, let's go...

Listen to my ultimate Christmas playlist!

And when I say ultimate, I mean unique and eclectic, because I've included some genre-twisted tunes and some beautiful classics to create a playlist everyone will enjoy, whether you like punk rock, swing, rock'n'roll, or CCM! This 3+ hours-long playlist includes the songs I mentioned in yesterday's post and the favorites I didn't mention!

So slap on some jingle bells, throw on an ugly sweater, grab a plate of Christmas cookies, and enjoy!

I hope y'all enjoy and have a blessed holiday season! Don't forget to check out Lillian Keith's blog to find all the other December Eve Blog Party posts!

Wait.

What's this?

I have to announce winners?

Because I hosted a giveaway yesterday?

Ah, yes, of course!! *winks*

The three lucky winners of a Christmas surprise are...

Ava, Kayti, and Joelle! Y'all be on the lookout for your prize in your inboxes, girls! Thank y'all so much for reading and commenting on yesterday's post!

Oh, and there's one more announcement, I believe...

*checks notes*

Oh, yes. I have a freebie for everyone.

*looks back at notes* A freebie??

That's right! My Christmas novella, The Gift of Her Heart, which takes place after Held Captive and during Prisoner at Heart (so y'all betta read them first, or this lil' thang will throw you for a loop!), is F R E E until December 5th!!! Y'all can download your $0.00 Kindle copy below!

The paperback version of this novella has also been discounted from $7.99 to $5.99! So there's that. That particular sales lasts ALL month!

Happy December everyone, and merry Christmas!!!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#christmas #christmassongs #blogcollab #music #giveaway #winners #free #readforfree #freebook #thegiftofherheart #sale #onsale #novella

december eve blog party pt. 1

It’s been a minute since I’ve talked about music on here...since one of my first-ever blog tags, actually...so what better way to get back into the swing of things than with CHRISTMAS SONGS?!

I’m one of those strange folk who start listening to carols in September (and, let’s face it, I never stop singing “Jingle Bells”), so suffice to say Christmas songs are some of my favorite songs, and I can’t wait to share them!

This Christmas blog collab is headed up by the lovely Lillian Keith (check out her blog here!), and there are several other amazing bloggers part of this that she’ll be sharing in her post! I’m so excited to be a part, and I hope y’all enjoy discovering some new Christmas tunes!

classic carols

You know it’s Christmas when they start trolling the classic Victorian carols—especially when you get to sing them at church! My top three carols are “Hark, The Herald Angels Sing,” “O, Holy Night” (which I used to not like, believe it or not), and “The First Noel”!

What’s your favorite Christmas carol?

christmas with you

I couldn’t pass up the chance to share some romantic Christmas tunes, since I am the captain of romance, after all! (And, yes, in case you were wondering, I do steal hearts. *winks*)

Despite the controversy, I love “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” “Merry Christmas Darling” by Carpenters, “Santa Baby” by Eartha Kitt, “Last Christmas” (by Wham! but I usually listen to other versions), “This Christmas,” “Merry Christmas Baby,” “Winter Wonderland” by Tony Bennett, “I Wanna Be Your Christmas” by Andrew Allen, and “Sleigh Ride”!

But my all-time favorite is “His Favorite Christmas Story” by Capital Lights! If you haven’t heard it yet...WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR???

childhood favorites

To be honest, I still see myself as in my childhood (won’t be an adult until next year, after all), but my first favorite Christmas songs are “Carol of the Bells,” “Silent Night,” "Mary, Did You Know," and “Come, All Ye Faithful”!

And some classics I remember from my childhood are “Go Tell It On the Mountain,” “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas,” “All I Want For Christmas is My Two Front Teeth,” “Nuttin’ For Christmas,” and “Christmas Don’t Be Late” by The Chipmunks, of course!

Which begs the question—what do you want for Christmas this year? A hippo, a pair of teeth, a hula hoop, or have you simply been too naughty to get anything but coal?

curl up by the fire

Nothing, and I mean nothing says Christmas like jazz and swing and CROONERS. The #1 song that makes me wanna curl up by the fire is hands-down “The Christmas Song” by Nat King Cole. I feel the warm fuzzies now… *sighs wistfully*

I also love “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” by Bing Crosby, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by Frank Sinatra, and “The Christmas Waltz,” also by my man Frank. And anything instrumental (especially The Nutcracker soundtrack and Canon in D) is just so cozy!

not your average christmas

I think I could spend all day listing some of my favorite unique Christmas songs...but I’ve decided to keep this short for now.

In the #1 spot is “Christmas in Killarney” (the Bing Crosby version in case you’re not a diehard Celtic music fan). My family hates this song, but I ADORE it!!! The Celtic vibes, the warmth and coziness of the lyrics, the fun melody that makes you wanna dance a jig...it’s perfect.

#2 goes to “I Hate Christmas Parties” by Relient K (and their entire Let It Snow, Baby...Let It Reindeer album). SUCH a mood.

#3 is the classic “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” by Elmo & Patsy. So cruel and yet so hilarious. *shakes head*

#4 “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” by Band Aid. Such a sad but true song…

#5 “The Wassail Song” and “I Saw Three Ships” by Hawk Nelson. Both classic tunes, but with a pop-punk twist from a fantastic Christian pop-punk band!

#6 “The Christmas Shoes” by Newsong. Why is this one at the bottom of the list? BECAUSE IT IS SO FLIPPIN’ SAD. It takes a strong person not to ugly cry while listening to this one. *sobs* Despite that, it’s still so beautiful and precious.

Now, I must know...what are your favorite Christmas songs? Most unique tunes? Best-loved childhood listen? Let me know down in the comments below! THREE random commenters will win a special Christmas surprise! And make sure you stay tuned for tomorrow’s post where I share a complete playlist of Christmas songs!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#christmas #christmassongs #blogcollab #music #giveaway

book review: the secrets of emberwild by stephenia h. mcgee

Warnings: #1 This is a long review, so pull up a chair and grab a bowl of popcorn. You’ll be here awhile. #2 When I read a review, I want substantial information. So I will not skimp on the details. Which may mean some spoilers, so watch out.#3 Just because I rate a book two stars doesn’t always mean it’s inherently bad. It doesn’t mean you won’t enjoy it either. And it certainly doesn’t mean I have any issues with the author or with the book itself. My review is simply a reflection of my reading experience and my thoughts and opinions—nothing else. Thank you.

Stars: 2

Synopsis: Nora Fenton wants to race horses and be an independent woman. The rest of her family, however, would much rather tug the puppet strings of her life hither and yon while cowering behind their lies and secrets, preventing her from living her dreams. When a mysterious newcomer is hired on to train Nora’s prized colt, those secrets are slowly unraveled to reveal the lie everything Nora has ever known was founded upon.

Introduction: (Yes, I’m including intros now. Sorry.) Despite common misconception, I do not enjoy being the one-in-a-million reader who gives books low ratings and negative reviews. This is painful, especially considering how excited I was to jump into this novel. Whenever an indie author gets published with a company like Revell or Bethany House, I absolutely want to support them—and Stephenia H. McGee is one such author, not to mention one I’ve been following for a while and have enjoyed a couple of books by already.

My initial thoughts when I picked up The Secrets of Emberwild was that it would be suspenseful, mysterious, sweet, romantic, and unique—and it has lived up to that description for a lot of readers. However, there were some elements I just couldn’t overlook, and after a few chapters, I had to force myself to keep reading.

I highly recommend checking out Joanne’s review here on Goodreads, because she sums up pretty much all of my thoughts without my unnecessary ranting!

What I Loved: Let’s face it, I loved the whole horse theme. I’m not a huge horse girl at all, but horses have been a prevalent part of my life…mainly because of all the horse shows/movies I’ve seen over the years. And also because of where I live in South Georgia, where every other person has a horse in their backyard (or thereabouts) and so many folks are part of the rodeo—like some of my cousins and my dad’s boss’ daughter.

So naturally, even though I’m not crazy about it, I’m attracted to it, and I love how detailed and immersive McGee was into that aspect of the story. She knew what she was talking about, and I appreciated that.

I also found her writing style clear and easy to follow. Not stilted or clunky or too wordy (is there such a thing, though?)—just every smooth and balanced.

Lastly, I liked how some of the initial “bad guys” of the story turned out to be be good! *cheers* I feel like so many stories keep their secondary or minor characters (especially the mean ones) flat and unchanging, so it was nice to see characters like Nora’s mom and even Roger with layers and good intentions.

AND MR. DALE. He was wonderful. I adored him. SUCH refresher from the typical unwanted older suitor—even though he was still unwanted, older, and discriminated against because of his age (and, bless him, his young son). *wraps Georgie in a hug and holds him tight*

What I Didn’t Love: *sighs* I’m sure y’all have guessed by now...I didn’t love Nora. At all. Y’all, as far as feminists go, I can tolerate one that’s actually well-written, authentic, and period-accurate. Nora, however, felt so cliché. She literally just spouted the same stereotypical lines that every feminist character does, and after a while, I felt like this aspect of her character (which was, in all honesty, the entirety of her character) was forced. In fact, I’d hoped her arc would unfold and she would change over the course of the story.

Nope. No growth or change on hers or the hero Silas’ part either.

Usually a feminist heroine is paired with a hero I adore, but not so with The Secrets of Emberwild. Silas had little personality or development—and in the end, his romance with Nora followed in suit, feeling flat and unemotional. There was no real tension or connection between them, sadly. (Besides, once you get into the fundamental beliefs of the third-wave feminism infused into a first-wave-era novel, you see how it’s impossible to have a romantic relationship with a feminist. But that’s a story for another day—or the comments, if you’re interested!)

And even though I think the concept had a lot of potential, it too became rather cliché. I saw through every character, plotline, and secret within a few chapters, and I found myself wishing the characters (specifically Nora) would clue in and figure things out already!

Finally, the faith content. Yes, there were a couple mentions of God, but nothing substantial. Heck, no one even went to church! And y’all know I’m the last one to push that as if it represents salvation, but that’s how lacking this was in the spirituality department. I understand Christians writing “clean” books rather than overtly Christian books (NOT THAT I AGREE IN THE LEAST, mind you), but PLEASE. Let’s acknowledge the single most important aspect of history—God. Whether you’re laying it on thick with sermons and scripture or just mentioning prayers over lunch, it doesn’t matter. Even Margret Mitchell, who was on par with culture today, took the time to represent Christianity as an integral part of pretty much everyone’s lives back in the day.

It’s this lack of Christianity and true faith that makes the feminism stand out even more. Had Nora, as Joanna said in her review, taken her complaints, struggles, and issues to God and relied on Him to carry her through rather than herself, she would’ve been such a loveable heroine. She’d have been kind, thoughtful, and happier, rather than discontent, impolite, and bitter. *sighs* But alas.

The crazy thing, though, is one of the lines in the last couple chapters: “She’d learned that while she didn’t need a man to be complete—only God could touch and heal the places deep within her to make her whole—having him at her side made life more abundant.” I want to love this quote, because it is so powerful, but, y’all. This is such a lie on Nora’s part. She never sought God. He never healed her. He never made her whole. He was never present in her life at all, because she had no relationship with him. I have no idea where this line came from. I so sorely wish it had been the main theme, but it wasn’t. The theme was simply that only Nora could make Nora whole, Nora had to do what Nora wanted, only Nora’s dreams mattered, and Nora didn’t need anyone else for anything ever.

I wish it were true, but no one can truly be independent of other people (much less of God), and selfish, prideful attitudes like this always come before destruction.

Okay. No more ranting now. I’m sure y’all understand. I just…I get so caught up in characters’ lives, it physically hurts. *chuckles ruefully* In fact, I couldn’t sleep last night because of the ending to the book I’m currently editing. *sobs for her precious Nathan*

Long Story Short: The Secrets of Emberwild, like all stories, had great potential. However, Nora’s character and arc (or lack thereof) made her seem angry, selfish, and poorly developed, and without the necessary relationship with Jesus, she, Silas, and their romance feel flat. I liked the concept, but it too seemed a little cliché and formulaic.

If you’re a horse fan or looking for an easy historical read, this novel might just be for you! But if you’re like me and prefer some depth (and less anti-men agenda), then you might be in need of something else. To be honest, if anything, I feel more chauvinistic, pro-men, and pro-patriarchy after reading this than I did before!

Disclaimer: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher. All opinions expressed are my own.

snag your copy

And click the third button to browse local indie bookstores for this book!

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about the author

Stephenia H. McGee is a multi-published author of stories of faith, hope, and healing set in the Deep South. She lives in Mississippi, where she is a mom of two rambunctious boys, writer, dreamer, and husband spoiler. Her novel The Cedar Key was a 2021 Faith, Hope, and Love Readers’ Choice award winner. A member of the ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) and the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution), she loves all things books and history. Stephenia also loves connecting with readers and can often be found having fun with her Faithful Readers Team on Facebook. For more on books and upcoming events and to connect with Stephenia, visit her at www.StepheniaMcGee.com.

Are y'all getting tired of feminist heroines too? Or are you just tired of my constant ranting? *winks* How to do you think faith and spiritual growth affects character arcs? Are you a horse fan? Have you ever ridden a horse before? I wanna hear all about it in the comments!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#bookreview #review #historicalfiction #historicalromance #christianfiction #strongheroines #feministheroines #heroines

black friday sales

You read that right. In honor of Black Friday, the lovely Perry Kirkpatrick is hosting her annual Black Friday Book Sale...which means not only can you get HUNDREDS (and I mean hundreds upon hundreds) of clean and Christian indie books (mostly ebooks, some signed print copies) for FREE and $0.99 from authors like Stefanie Lozinski, Nadine C. Keels, Allison Tebo, , Kendra E. Ardnek, Valerie Howard, Everly Haywood, Penny Zeller, Madisyn Carlin, Kristina Hall, Vanessa Hall, Kellyn Roth, and SO MANY MORE...

You can also get my books for free. *beams*

Held Captive and With Fear and Trembling will be F-R-E-E on Kindle from Nov. 25th to Nov. 29th, so mark your calendars for this E P I C Black Friday sale!! You won't wanna miss this, guys!

about held captive

What was supposed to be a simple merchant ship capture turned pirate captain Rina Blackstone's life upside down. The impertinent merchant captain insists he's found an English duke's long lost daughter, and Rina refuses to endure his nonsense.

Even if he can be quite charming at times.

Even if evidence surfaces that prove his claims.

Even if Rina realizes a family who loves her may be just what she needs.

about with fear and trembling

Thirty daily devotions to inspire you to work out your own salvation with fear and trembling!

"Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” - Philippians 2:12As Paul commanded the church of Philippi to rely upon the Word of God rather than man's teachings, to cultivate their own faith rather than sharing in another's, Grace A. Johnson has written thirty simple but inspirational devotions that are geared to readers of all ages and stages in life. Meant to motivate readers to dig into the Word, prompt them to examine their relationship with God, and encourage them to walk in victory, the devotions include:

Applicable Scripture passages Relatable true stories Inspirational prayers

I hope you all have a beautiful Thanksgiving full of gratitude, family, and f o o d!!! Speaking of food, what's your favorite holiday dish? Lemme know down below!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#blackfriday #booksales #sale #free #freebooks #heldcaptive #withfearandtrembling

book review: the lost melody by joanna davidson politano

Warnings: #1 This is a long review, so pull up a chair and grab a bowl of popcorn. You’ll be here awhile. #2 When I read a review, I want substantial information. So I will not skimp on the details. Which may mean some spoilers, so watch out.

Someone please explain to me...HOW DOES THIS WOMAN DO IT? No matter the story, the characters, or my reservations, Politano has me savoring every word of every one of her books and suffering from severe book hangover when I’ve finished reading.

I just...I can’t wrap my mind around this woman’s immense talent. I can only say it’s truly divine, and that I aspire to leave readers just as amazed and in love with my work as I am with hers.

Now, let’s face it. The Lost Melody wasn’t A Midnight Dance. I honestly don’t think Politano could ever top AMD (y’all, that book has a piece of my s o u l), BUT it came pretty darn close. Plus, y’know, it did help that Jack (omgosh, I love that man), Ella, and Philippe made surprise appearances—but wait. That’s a spoiler, isn’t it?

Oops.

Before I dive into why I absolutely adored this book, let me address a few things. This book is marketed as dealing with mental health and women’s rights/independence. Heck, that may have been why you’re even interested in it in the first place. But I beg to differ just a wee bit.

I don’t see feminism and women’s rights in this book. I don’t even see your typical mental health rep.

I see the humanity and the beauty of that humanity in all of us. I see the sanctity of life, no matter how burdened or broken that life may seem. I see the divine touch and power of God, His love, and His Spirit at work in those lives.

And that’s how this book should be marketed. Not with trendy words, labels, and -isms. But by boldly declaring the deep, authentic themes in this novel. Because, through every page, that is what you read, what you feel, what speaks to you, what leaves an impression on your heart. Not an urge to march or sound off on social media...but an urge to see what God sees—what He created—and to love like He loves. To bring light into the dark places and joy into the sad hollows and peace into the chaotic storms.

(As long as we’re talking women and mental health, I gotta say...Politano does it right. First of all, she’s authentic and real instead of cliché or conformed. Second, she’s biblical and Christ-centered and so full of hope. Third, her heroines are strong and can handle themselves, yes, but not despite their dependence. Because of it. Because they rely on God for strength when they’re too weak. Because they seek His will instead of their own selfish desires. Because they run to Him instead of retreating into themselves or running to another person. Because they have support systems and friends they love. Because they learn to trust and walk alongside strong, Godly men. My only question is: why don’t other authors take a page out of Politano’s book and start writing heroines who are strong because God is with and within her rather than heroines who only seem weak because they rely on themselves and a collection of inauthentic clichés?)

End rant.

Begin review.

The characters in this were, for the most part, so very vibrant. I did get confused with some of the nurses a time or two, but the characters who counted were indeed very well-written and intriguing. Everyone, inmate or outsider, hero or villain, had a story and depth to them—something I appreciated!

I loved how Politano blurred the lines sometimes, though. You never really knew who to trust, who was “mad” or, well, not mad, who was with Vivienne and who was against her. It never seemed forced or contrived; it was always a natural blur that felt genuine.

Speaking of Vivienne...no, she wasn’t Ella, and she wasn’t a favorite heroine, BUT I LIKED HER. A LOT. AND THAT COUNTS. A whole lot. I’ll say it again, Politano is ah-may-zing at writing heroines, and I simply don’t think she could write one I don’t like.

And it really all boils down to their arcs. Their growth. Their faith. Every time, especially with Viv, she weaves in these intrinsic, powerful truths and deep, relatable struggles to create arcs and themes that are authentic, poignant, and inspiring.

My man Mitchell was definitely lacking in that department, though. *sighs * FIRST OF ALL, HE WASN’T JACK. I mean, no one is Jack Dorian, obviously, so how could I love him as I do my sweet, darling Jack? But on a less fangirly note, he was on the underdeveloped side. Even though he had a few third-person POV scenes (certainly more than Jack did, I think, which I was glad for), they never really seemed to make any headway with his character. They just provided a wee glimpse of insight but no firm resolution, which only served to muddle the man.

BUT he was an absolute doll, so I can’t complain. I just…wanted more. So much more. Y’all know how I love my boys.

His romance with Viv (no, I don’t guess that’s a spoiler) was kinda rushed (I agree with my girl Sophia, although I can’t say I was surprised by their burst of affection *winks*) and it certainly took the back burner...but was that a bad thing? I don’t think so. I think it fit the story and the characters, and that was that. I’m just glad there was romance (of course) and that it wasn’t butchered (which I don’t think Politano could do). HOWEVER, the only way it seemed truly rushed to me was that Mitchell seemed to be mourning Dahlia the whole novel. It wasn’t so bad it seemed creepy or weird or unnatural for him to fall for Viv; I just think he needed a wee bit more time.

Speaking of, the ending was definitely rushed too. Like, we finally made it to the place we’d been waiting the whole novel for...and that was it. I NEEDED RESOLUTION. And I mean more than one page’s worth. BUT I am a fine one to talk (Southern sarcasm here), because I legit did the same thing in most recent novel. So...is it really an issue? Nope. I’m not too tore up about it, although it did seem inconsistent with the pacing of the rest of the novel. Really, one extra chapter could’ve fixed that for me. I don’t think it’s necessarily the length of the ending that makes it seem rushed; it’s just what all occurs during that length. If everything happens in your one ending chapter, Houston, we’ve got a problem. But as soon as we disperse it evenly over two or three chapters, we’re go for launch.

*coughs* Pardon my writerly musings. I do ramble so.

Case in point, there were some pacing particulars, but not a make-it-or-break-it. (I really just have to say something negative so I’m not being super gushy all the time.) There were also some times where I felt like there was so much going on—from Anna and Otto to Bridget and Thornhill to Mitchell and Rose. So many people and situations that I couldn’t keep track, and that resulted in some aspects (like what happened with Bridget in the end) seeming rushed and undeveloped. Had there been fewer subplots (or more pages; that works too), it would’ve been perfect in the plot department!

(Oh, who am I kidding? I just wanted the book to be longer! Y’all know I’m all about those 800+ page epics.)

Otherwise, the suspense, the mystery, the is-she-insane-or-not, the intrigue, the plot twists...they were all so well-done. And, y’all, I tried once, but I soon learned my lesson: don’t bother guessing or assuming while reading a Politano novel. You ain’t never gonna figure it out!

INCOMING WHOOPER OF A SPOILER!!! (Was it just me, though, or was there one loose end? No one ever confirmed or denied that Marcel was probably Rose’s father, which is absolutely my hypothesis. I guess that means there are opportunities for a s e q u e l!!!)

SPOILER END!

Oh, and I really appreciated the author’s note! Fiction often errs to one side—either super dark or super light—so kudos to authors like Joanna who take the time to note where not everything was black-and-white, like with Victorian asylums that weren’t all bad, cruel, and abusive like Hurstwell.

And can I just give her a standing ovation too for yet again entrancing me in a story so intricate, so exquisite, so BLASTED WELL-WRITTEN that I could cry? Like, y’all. Explain to me how she does it. I simply don’t understand.

Before I close, I must speak on the prose. This woman, I swanny, she writes so gorgeously. Her descriptions, the way she immerses you into what the character sees and feels, the way everything comes to life in the most beautiful language...*heart melts* I adore it. I love when authors take the time to tailor the narrative to their character, to let their thoughts and voice shine through, but y’all. She went above and beyond. The musical references and the melody throughout wove seamlessly together in a glorious symphony.

There is truly nothing like a novel by Joanna Davidson Politano. They’re riveting, haunting, mysterious, and full of suspense. They’re deep and introspective, immersive and personal. They’re full of profound truth, hope, and Holy Spirit. They’re delightful, romantic, and tender. No one else I’ve ever read writes quite like this lady. May God bless her.

And may God bless you for reading this entire review. *chuckles* Now go on and read the book!

Disclaimer: I received a complimentary review copy from the publisher. All opinions expressed are my own.

snag your copy about the author

Joanna Davidson Politano freelances for a small nonfiction publisher but spends much of her time spinning tales that capture the colorful, exquisite details in ordinary lives. Her manuscript for Lady Jayne Disappears was a finalist for several contests, including the 2016 Genesis Award from ACFW, and won the OCW Cascade Award and the Maggie Award for Excellence. She is always on the hunt for random acts of kindness, people willing to share their deepest secrets with a stranger, and hidden stashes of sweets. She lives with her husband and their two babies in a house in the woods near Lake Michigan and shares stories that move her at www.jdpstories.com.

Have you ever read a Joanna Davidson Politano novel? If so, which one? Do you have a favorite? How do you feel most writers (especially Christian ones) portray hot topics like mental health and women's rights? Do you like fictional heroines, or have you noticed a lot of them (specifically Christian historical romance ones) are poorly-written and undeveloped feminists? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below!

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#bookreview #review #gothic #romance #historicalromance #historicalfiction #heroines #mentalhealth #christianfiction #joannadavidsonpolitano #victorianera #gothicromance

the day hath arrived

Bound and Determined…

What if we added more?

What if we totally ditched what I was going to do, and completely redid everything?

I’m liking this idea.

Say Xavier did indeed decide to captain another ship.

Say Rina is tested to the max.

Say we still don’t give up on Keaton.

Say we slap in a couple of slave traders, slaves, pirates, naval officers, and temptations.

What do you think?

I’m liking this.

Three years and six months ago, I opened up a document and started typing. I took my circa 2017 ideas and meshed them with my new inklings (one of which I owe to my dentist at the time, who brainstormed a few story suggestions up for me), creating - over the course of 10,000 words of brain-wracking, scene-crafting, and character-developing - an intense high-seas adventure.

Three years and three months ago, I opened up another document and started typing. This time, my high-seas adventure took me for a wild ride as we braved global pandemics, college classes, new people who are now my best friends, crushes, many emotional breakdowns, and literally no sleep until the inkling grew to the exponential length (at least for me) of 209,000 words.

Over three years later, and my big BAD baby (as I have affectionately dubbed it) has been released unto the world.

My friends, the day hath arrived.

The waters unto my soul are come, O God, me save.

I am in muddy deep sunk down, where I no standing have:

Into deep waters I am come, where floods me overflow.

I of my crying weary am, my throat is dried so;

Mine eyes fail, I wait for my God.

They that have hated me without a cause,

than my heads hairs they more in number be:

Also mine enemies wrongfully, they that would me slay,

mighty they are: then I restor’d what I took not away.

O God thou knowst my foolishness;

my sins not hid from thee.

Today is the long awaited release day for the book that has driven me n u t s...and closer to God. Bound and Determined is now out in the world, in people's hands, r e a l and physical and so blessed huge. *hugs her toe-crushingly heavy copy to her chest* I simultaneously love and hate this baby.

But instead of complaining about all the heartache this story put me through (and, lemme tell ya, this is just the beginning), let me tell you about what God has done in and through it.

When I first began writing Bound and Determined, I had no idea what I was doing. I rarely ever do, but this was worse than usual. This time, I was at the point where I wanted to put this story off until I felt capable of telling it, until I knew what the purpose was, until I knew I could handle it. (One reason why I'm grateful it took me three years. I needed the time.)

But the truth is, you can’t be prepared to handle something unless you’ve actually gone through it. You can’t be capable until you’re conditioned.

So I free-fell into this story and trusted God to catch me.

He did.

Even though I’d like to claim some partial ownership of this manuscript, it quite honestly belongs to God. The characters, the themes, the messages—they’re His. They’ve always been His. He took my harebrained ideas of a story for Keaton and turned it into something beyond my wildest imagination, and I know He has a reason.

For the longest time, I had no idea what in the world that reason could be. What could anyone get out of a story like this? It’s too convoluted to present a clear message, and yet too blunt to incite conviction.

I tried so hard to weave in so many messages and themes—from “you can’t lose your salvation” to “grace is enough”—all of which are biblical, and all of which are only a small piece in a bigger puzzle. A single chapter in a love story between God and His wayward bride.

A love story only He could write.

A love story I pray you are—or will become—a part of, because, as Mrs. Clarke would say, it is the most beautiful and yet mysterious intimacy the world will ever know. The intimacy between God and man.

If you get nothing else out of this story, know this, that we are not worthy, but God, in His immense love for us, has deemed us so.

And because of that, we receive His grace, His new life, His holiness, and His pure, incorruptible love.

Because of that, we are new.

But I in an accepted time to thee, Lord, make my prayer:

Me, Lord, in thy salvation’s truth, in they great mercy hear.

Deliver me out of the mire, and me from sinking keep:

let me be freed my haters from.

O’erflow me not let water floods, nor me let swallow up

the deep, also let not the pit her mouth upon me shut.

Jehovah, hear thou me, for good is thy benignity:

turn unto me according to greatness of thy mercy.

I've never doubted a story like I've doubted BAD. I mean, I practically hated Held Captive for two years (story for another day), but I never doubted it. Not like this. And yet, literally every time I started doubting and disparaging this book, God showed up and showed out and shouted to me that this was His story and that He wasn't gonna let it fall apart.

First, He sent me Sophia. That random giveaway winner from Goodreads who actually liked my books??? what??? and one day slid into my Goodreads DMs to talk Prisoner at Heart and Unblemished. Bonding over Crimson and Elliot and Em and Ky led me to not only finding the most amazing alpha reader a girl could ask for...but also finding the loveliest, kindest, sweetest friend. Soph is literally a girl after my own heart, but better than that, because she saw potential in this story when I only saw a jumble of nonsense. She saw a hero where I only saw a villain (no, seriously *cuts eyes to Tomas*).

Then, He sent me Kristina and Vanessa. Two sisters, friends, and fellow authors who never, ever gave up on me or this story. Even though we don't have the same tastes (and they probably secretly hate this book; who knows), they have still supported me tremendously with patience, grace, and kindness. Their motivation, encouragement, prayers, and constant checking up on me are what helped me persevere to the end.

Then, He gave me Issabelle. One of the best fangirls in the history of fangirls and an even better friend, my twin sister (in spirit, if not by blood) has poured so much love and inspiration into this story and my entire life. (But let's face it. The only reason she likes me is because of Xavier.) She too sees the heart of the hero I hate (but am finally coming to love...maybe...) and the divine purpose in the words I give no thought to. Is, where I have inspired you, you inspire me. I wish the world had a billion of you. (And a Perry Mountain and Perry Camp.)

Then, He gave me Hannah. This girl who popped out of the literal nowhere and started reading my books soon became one of the best beta readers I could ask for. More than that, the girl God used to reveal the purpose of this story to me, for which I am eternally grateful.

And, y'all, the list goes on. Even though the miracles of Bound and Determined aren't of the same supernatural caliber of Prisoner at Heart (remind me to tell y'all about that), they are many. And they are marvelous.

Without them, without these girls, without God, without all the friends and family who have given a word, a thought, a prayer, a pat on the back...BAD wouldn't be here. If anything, it might still be about a chess game gone wrong and a pirate with violet eyes (long story).

“You’re a miracle, Keaton. You know that?”

Y'all, I think I could go on forever...but I know I shouldn't. Simply allow me to thank you all for absolutely everything - every comment, every smiley face, every virtual hug, every not-quite-real chocolate bar. In the words of Dave Barnes (but in a slightly less romantic sense), God gave me you. He gave me this beautiful little haven of people for this very reason - so that His stories would have readers (beyond me, who turns all of His stories into mushy romances with cute guys).

(And because I needed friends, but let's not go there.)

May He bless you all and give you a sign of His favor, and furthermore, may He fill you with joy, delight, and excitement as you read Bound and Determined!

“There is always calm in Christ. No matter where it is that you go or what it is that you do. He will be glorified. He will watch over you. His will shall be done. In Him, there is peace.”

(And, yes, I know I'm outrageously behind on posts and reviews and basically everything on here. I don't even know what I've spent the last three months doing...I just know they're not here anymore and now I've gotta buy Christmas presents. Speaking of...)

Oh, yes. Here's the link. To BAD. Since you can, like, buy it now and stuff.

(As I was saying, stay tuned, peebles, because I have big plans of sharing more about BAD and bombarding y'all with posts!!! Keep in mind, though, that I make no guarantees. I may get buried in wrapping paper between now and then and be unable to do said sharing. We shall see.)

Also, I had fifteen preorders for BAD!! Like, y'all!!! That only translates to about $30 in sales, but fifteen is better than nothing, folks! Much better, considering in the past, I've only had 2-4 preorders!

On that note, if I can sell TEN COPIES on release day (which is today, in case you haven't heard), I will...do something cool. Like give away something or share something or...I don't know. I'm writing this in the middle of the night and I can't think straight anymore, so we'll see. It'll be a surprise.

A N Y W A Y.

If you're interested in a copy and you'd like to learn more about the book, go over the content, or just talk shop, feel free to comment with questions and thoughts (and celebratory chocolate) down below!

Love you all! *saunters away humming "We Wish You a Merry Christmas"*

yours in spirit and script, Grace

#boundanddetermined #releaseday #newrelease #newbook #daughtersofthesevenseas #celebrate #christianfiction #pirates #romance #historicalfiction #historicalromance #indie #booknews #updates #quotes #stuffandallandeverything #tencopiestodayequalsasurprisetomorrow #iamgoingtobecomeamiddleenglishtranslator #loveyall #ineedsleep #goodnight #ohandyesthatwasanexcerptfrommyoutline #yesthatshowioutline #andyesidoreallyconsiderthatanoutline #justtrusttheprocessokay #btwwhatdoyallthinkofmynewblogheader #yeaornay #lemmeknowdownbelow

Bound and Determined quotes © 2022 Grace Ann Johnson

Excerpts from Psalm 69 on are taken from the Bay Psalm Book and translated by Grace A. Johnson.