Grace A. Johnson's Blog: Of Blades & Thorns, page 49

The Writerly Siblings Tag (From the Perspective of One of Seven)

I'll be honest with y'all...I feel no remorse about stealing this tag, as I stole it from someone who had previously stolen it from someone who had legal rights to it. Surely you can't actually steal something that was stolen, can you?

Well, either way, as soon as I read my friend R.M. Archer's ,post, I knew that I just had to do this one myself. I am the oldest of seven kids and we are all very close in age (the farthest is three years and the closest is seventeen months). I love my close-knit family, I love writing about close-knit families, and I love reading about close-knit families.

So there you go.

The Rules
Rule One: Thank the blogger who tagged you (or from whom you stole the tag) and provide a link to their post (see above).
Rule Two: Answer the inquires, including any ones added by means of rule six.
Rule Three: Always use your own characters. No exception, unless you don’t actually have sibling characters (in which case you need to go write up some) or you don’t write (in which case you need to start ASAP).
Rule Four: Tag three other bloggers.
Rule Five: If you happen to have any siblings who blog, they are automatically tagged and cannot count towards your three.
Rule Six: Add one question or prompt to the list of questions the person before you answered relating to siblings and/or characters. Answer the question, and provide a list of all the questions of that you answered so far (So, for example, someone I tag will have 12 questions to answer, one of which will be their own. The next will have 13, 11 of which are mine, 1 of which is the previous blogger’s, and 1 of which is their own. The next person will have 14, and so forth….)
Rule Seven: Close out the post making some statement or other glorifying the King of kings.
Rule Eight: (Made up by moi.) Apologize for messing up the rhythm of this tag series if you, like myself, have stolen it. A thousand pardons to any of the tag police who are probably not reading this...

Now, with all that legal mumbo-jumbo out of the way, let's have some fun!

The Questions
Name the most annoying sibling character in any of your stories (Either annoying to you as the author or to any other characters)

Scarlette. Without a doubt, Scarlette Wilde is the most annoying character period. She annoys the readers, she annoys her siblings Crimson and Tomas, she annoys the other characters. However, she doesn't annoy me. I absolutely love her complex, aggravating character! She cracks me up! Here's one of her best moments, and one of her first interactions with her older sister Crimson in Prisoner at Heart:

There. Something other than arrogance in her expression. Shame? Fear? Nay, ‘twas pure disappointment, and with perhaps the smallest hint of embarrassment in the way her eyes went back to her fingernails. But only a hint, because then her gaze returned to mine and she frowned, tempting me to repeat her own words.

“I’m not your child, Crimson, to chasten and scold. I am a free person, independent, and may do as I will.” She tossed her head like a whinnying horse—don’t tell her I called her that—her long curls tumbling down her back. “You have no obligation to me. Nor does Tomas.”

I sighed, shuddering at the thought of Scar being “independent,” or perhaps because of the chill that climbed up my spine. “You are my orphaned sister,” I reminded her, pronouncing each word perfectly in hopes she’d understand that. “Ten and four years of age. Unable to care for yourself in any proper way. Should you be given free rein”—there I went with the horse thing again—“you would become nothing more than some man’s bed warmer. A strumpet like my mum. Trampled under the feet of rotten, filthy scoundrels, just like your mum was.” Left to the riffraff; left to care for a child you hadn’t wanted; left with the pain, the hollow emptiness when you lost said child, I wanted to say, wanted to prove to her that I knew firsthand what being “independent” felt like. It was being used for a moment then kicked to the side.

It was being abandoned by someone who’d never loved you, who had never really cared but for some reason had been there, all over again.

Name the most caring sibling character in any of your stories

Hmm... It's a tie between Keaton and Daisy, I should think, but in the end, Keat wins out. Not only did he nearly give his life for his sister, but he also cares for his sister's best friends as though they were blood relatives. He is just so sweet, even though he tries to hide his innate sweetness by being all gruff and dark. Classic big brother, right?

Name the most entertaining sibling character in any of your stories

Definitely Rhys! He's the brother-in-law of my heroine Kerri-Leigh in my next next story, Tell Me No Lies. He is awesome! I'd originally modeled him after Rhett Butler, but he eventually morphed into his own character. He has an older brother and a younger sister, and he loves them both in the strangest of ways. They have a very...interesting family background. But Rhys? Oh, he just cracks me up! He's this strange mix of a nonchalant and flirtatious rich guy, cold and calculated street urchin, and insecure little boy. You'll understand it once you meet him.

Name a sibling character who was inspired in some way by an actual sibling

Ooh...um...huh. I really can't say that I have one, and this is coming from the girl with 6 siblings to pull from. The one character that was blatantly inspired by one (or two, exactly) of my siblings was Elliot Fulton Jr (aka Ellie and Leo). Considering he now has a younger brother, he counts as a sibling character, right? I based him off of my two youngest siblings, who were 2 and 1-ish at the time. He looks like my youngest brother Jacob and takes after my youngest sister Joanna. Jo didn't talk much for the longest time, and she'll still just sit there and suck her fingers with her eyes wide, replying with nods just like Leo.

Anyway... I do have a project (YA contemporary) that I doubt I'll ever write (it's there if I decide to), in which I created a character for each of my immediate family members. Jake (named for my baby brother) is the big brother I'll never have.

As time goes on, I know I'll see either my characters morph into my siblings or vice versa...just haven't made it there yet.

Name the largest character family (talking family, not family tree) in any of your stories

I know I have a lot of large families; I just haven't written them yet. They're in the idea stage, which also known as the probably-never-write-but-still-an-awesome-story-for-future-reference stage. So I'm gonna go with a family you've met--the Bennet/Arlington/Wellington family. Between Kit and Chloe, Xavier and Rina, Collin and Jess, and Damian and Aria, I have a very large family all complied of step-siblings, half-siblings, adopted siblings, siblings-in-law, and full-siblings. It gets confusing sometimes, and explaining how they're all related is a chore.

After them, I have the "coming soon" family of Rina and Xavier's, which combines with Elliot and Crimson's, Keaton and (enter name I cannot disclose here)'s, and several other characters' families. I'll try to leave it at that to avoid spoilers.

Provide one to three excerpts from your sibling characters’ dialog from any of your stories

For this, I'm going to share excerpts from Prisoner at Heart, The Gift of Her Heart, and Bound and Determined--respectively. (Would've done HC, but (1) Rina has no siblings, (2) she wouldn't have interacted with any of them if she did, and (3) Xavier's interaction with his siblings is limited--unless we count his interaction with Kit...but they weren't brothers at that point in time, so never mind.)

#1 (Crimson and Scarlette, from the former's POV):

“Do you remember it, Crimson?” came Scarlette’s voice from beside me. She motioned to the city, one side of her mouth quirked up, her eyes dancing.

Only too well, did I remember. Only too well.

“Night better than day. There was always much more goin’ on then. I can remember sneakin’ b’hind that building there”—I pointed at a bakery whose windows opened to reveal breads and cakes and other pastries that had always made my mouth water—“and findin’ stale loaves of bread thrown out. I’d bring ‘em back to The Golden Girl, an’ Mum, Tori, an’ me would have a feast.”

Then Randal would catch us, and his mouth would screw up in that frown of his. He’d put Mum back to work wiping tables and sweeping floors, and Tori would be sent to finish airing out sheets. I’d find my way back outside, ducking into alleyways and picking rich folks’ pockets.

“Wha’ d’ye remember o’ it?”

My sister released a breath, her eyes dimming. She took my hand and led me across the dock a-ways, nodding her head toward a street corner. “There we’d always stop, during our morning promenade. A little girl sold flowers, beautiful purple and blue ones. Fa—Mr. Radcliffe would buy about two or three blue ones, give the girl an extra pence, then thread the flowers through my hair. ‘For my little princess,” he’d say. ‘A crown.’”

Scarlette blinked back tears, her teeth catching on her full bottom lip and chewing for a second before she cleared her throat, looked at me and gave a sad smile. “Bittersweet memories, both of ours.”

“Indeed.” Because here I remembered a simpler time, but a hard one. Because here Scarlette remembered a happy time, but one based on a lie.

#2 (Kit and his adopted sister Mattie):

Mattie set a pair of hands on her hips, skewering him with a withering glare. “Is that how you intend to leave this?” Her tone was venomous, yet the inklings of a smile playing on her lips assured Kit that he was not entirely at fault for whatever it was that Mattie had deemed this.

“This being what, I ask? I see nothing wrong with the appearance of this particular room. Your bedroom, yes. Here, no.” He infused the utmost calm into his voice, even though he was more antsy than he had been all morning.

She gestured flippantly at the table, upon which was scattered an array of papers and receipts and an empty teacup and saucer. “We have company coming and Mum wants this house immaculate.”

Kit groaned. Immaculate was as much a word in his vocabulary as it was his mother’s—in other words, it was not. He preferred the term relatively clean, whilst his mother tended to lean toward absolutely perfect. Crossing his arms over his chest and tapping an impatient foot to signal to his growing agitation—which he knew well Mattie would pick up on—he abandoned composure and fairly growled, “Don’t we have servants for this?”

“Which you and I fairly are,” she quipped, reminding him of both of their adopted states—him by his mother’s husband and her by the thoroughly English couple that had purchased her freedom. “Besides, it is your brother-in-law who is coming and your old friend whom you have been helping for the past eight years. Mum thought it only right that you be the one responsible for the state of the household. I’m already ashamed that you foisted half your duties upon your father.”

“Papa doesn’t mind,” he rushed to justify. “But if you want to apply this philosophy to everything, then I suggest you call Chloe to prepare. ‘Tis her brother, you know.”

“Psh! The woman’s newly married and shouldn’t be bothered with all this chaos.”

A simper tugged his lip out. “I’m newly married.”

“Yes, and Xavier’s going to kill you when he finds out.”

“Don’t I know it.” A sigh barged past the barricade of Kit’s mouth as he leaned forward to scoop up the mess he had left on the table late last night. “I’ll take this up to my study, but I will not set the table.”

Mattie looked taken aback, if the lift of her eyebrows was of any indication. “But of course not, brother dear. Reed and Fenton will take care of that.”

She inclined her head to the right with a curious squint of her eyes. “Speaking of Reed, I hear a knock at the door. Ah, I shall simply get it myself. See, I am being responsible.”

And with that said, she bustled off, leaving him with a sliver of guilt, a pile of papers, and a teasing wink.

#3: (Rina and her "brother" Julius, from the former's POV):

I chuckled at the sight, bent to scoop my son into my arms, and set him on my hip. “And how long have you three been locked up in here?”

“Oh, long enough to realize you’ve bred a couple of hellions,” he said with an almost sardonic snicker as he threw Dick off his back and slid off the bed. “Mav tells me he wants to be a pirate when he grows up, and Dick has proven to be more monkey than boy. ‘Twas good I came in when I did, or else this place would look worse than a shipwrecked galleon.”

He cast a glance about the room as though to ensure it didn’t look that awful already, then rubbed his palms on his breeches as his boyish expression morphed into the less familiar stern, calculating one that was strangely reminiscent of his father’s. And mine. “Now, you haven’t made any changes to the course, have you?”

I shook my head.

“Good. Our last venture was not as successful as we had anticipated, but the course to Spain has always reaped great rewards. I wouldn’t want that ruined, no matter how dire the situation. I should talk with Quinn once more, make certain we’ll be on time.”

He scratched his chin, ran a finger over his bottom lip, cast his eyes thoughtfully to the floor before they launched at me with a startling intensity. “How do you intend to save the girl? I mean, slavers aren’t belligerent.”

Not a question I had yet asked myself. Dash.

“Why, Jules? Does pirating concern you?” I lifted a single brow and watched as a sly smirk edged its way onto his face.

“But of course not, sister. I merely speak out of concern for your position."

"I’m most assured that there will be some way to avoid pirating. If we can rendezvous with the slaver somewhere along the way, we might can deal peaceably with them, or else I will purchase Miss Sharow at an auction once we arrive.”

“Have you the funds?”

“Tucked away safely in Yorkshire. Besides, slaves don’t cost much at all these days, considering the constant supply.”

“’Tis a sad thing, I trow. I can almost imagine myself in such a position.” Julius visibly shuddered, and it disturbed me to dwell on his statement, for the truth was evident.

“You were, my brother. You were a slave to Wilde, but though you served your master subserviently, he was not one to submit to.”

“Exactly why I killed him.”

And exactly why you don’t bring up that subject anymore, Rina. Remember? In fact, I didn’t.

“Ah, we’ve better, more important things to talk about. That, and the twins are ready to break their fast.” I looked down at Dick hanging from Julius’s bent arm, then to Maverick babbling on about men in the moon and cheese and mice—or some such nonsense.

“Indeed we do. Such as getting my ship to port as quickly as possible.”

I turned about, reached for the door handle, pulled it open a-ways. Then heard the words he had spoken a moment ago. My head whipped around, jostling my mind almost as much as his specific terminology did, and my eye, narrowed in the way only Uncle had mastered, bore into his.

“Excuse me. Your ship?”

Name three published books which have an amazing portrayal of siblings or family

Um, can I just say every single book by Julie Lessman here? I LOVE the family dynamics in her stories and, to be honest, I hope and pray that me and my siblings will grow up to be as close and family-oriented as the O'Connors are (minus all their issues...I hope to avoid those).

Surely there are other books... Gimme a second here...

The Shadows Over England series by Roseanna M. White. (I know, I know; series, not a single book... Cut me some slack, y'all.) I love how Roseanna portrayed a family of large adopted siblings. Despite not being blood-related, her family of thieves is so close-knit and hilarious! She's done a great of creating fun, loveable families in some of her other books too. I especially love the sibling/family interactions in her Biblical stories.

All right, so this last one isn't an amazing portrayal, but it's definitely one of the most memorable, realistic, and (in the end) touching. Francine Rivers' Mark of the Lion series--particularly the Valerian family. Marcus and Julia have most downs than ups, but between their loving parents and Hadassah, love wins out in the end!

Name another author’s character family that you wouldn’t mind jumping into

The O'Connors! Without a doubt, I would LOVE to become a member of Julie Lessman's O'Connor family. They are so amazing! They pray together and talk about everything, and they are just so funny! Their family is full of matchmakers (and hunks, so maybe I'd marry into the family), a few hams, and plenty of bullish Irishmen. What more could a girl ask for?

Provide an excerpt of sibling drama or camaraderie from any title (though be sure to credit it)

I love EVERYTHING about the O'Connor family, so it was SUPER difficult to pick just one excerpt. I'll be honest, I just flipped to the last page in one of my Kindle books and copied the first example of "sibling camraderie" that I could! The conversation between the O'Connor women are always full of wisdom and wit!

Okay, what’s wrong with this picture?” Katie’s lips squirmed as she shucked the corn with a vengeance. She cocked a hip against the counter, accentuating the scalloped layers of her floral sundress as it flared at her calf. “It’s Mother’s Day, and the men are outside playing horseshoes while the ‘mothers’ are stuck in a hot kitchen.”

“True . . . ,” Charity said with a slow drawl and a quick peek out the kitchen window. A breeze fluttered both the cream eyelet curtains and the sheer ruffle of Charity’s pale blue organza blouse, infusing Lizzie’s spacious kitchen with the scent of fresh-mown grass, newly hewn mulch, and smoked meat. The ping of horseshoes could be heard above the rumble of men’s laughter and the squeals of children, creating the perfect spring day. “But keep in mind that the children belong to the fathers for the day.” She cracked a hard-boiled egg on the counter with a diabolical grin and began to peel it for the deviled eggs. “And with the shenanigans that Henry’s been pulling lately, that sure says ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ to me.”

“And they are handling the barbecue,” Lizzie defended, closing her eyes as she sniffed the aroma of grilled meat. “Although Brady would do just about anything for barbecue.” She popped an olive in her mouth from the relish tray she’d just finished and shot Charity a grin. “Short of watching Henry, that is.”

Marcy chuckled as she shredded slaw at the sink. “He sounds like your father. Insists he wants his tombstone to read, ‘He loved barbecue.’”

The spicy smell of pepper drifted in the air as Faith seasoned the potato salad with a hefty dose. “Oh, that’s Collin too. Must be a primal thing, left over from the days when cavemen bopped their woman over the head and cooked game over an open fire.”

Charity sneezed and then glanced up with a squint of her eyes. “Ooooo . . . now there’s an idea to keep Henry in line.”

A soft chuckle that could only be Emma Malloy carried on a breeze as she finished squeezing lemons for the iced tea. “Or you.”

“Nice one, Emma,” Katie said with a grin. She dropped an armful of corn into a boiling cauldron of water. “Talk about ‘grilling’ and putting someone’s feet to the fire.”

With another sharp crack of an egg, Charity charred her sister with a mock glare as a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Speaking of ‘putting one’s feet to the fire,’ Katie Rose . . . I’m guessing our Luke McGee likes his barbecue smoked a long, long time?”

Heat that had nothing to do with the steam from the pot blasted Katie’s cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth. “Luke and I are nothing more than friends, Charity, and you know it. And I refuse to even think of the possibility of anything more until it’s a reality in that man’s mind, if and when that ever happens. Besides, he’s my boss, and neither of us are looking to complicate things right now.”

“Mmm-hmm. I’d say things are pretty complicated already,” Charity said with a slant of her lips. “Given the fact you work with the man day in and day out and he still comes for dinner two times a week.”

“To see Gabe and nothing more,” Katie argued. She slapped a wilted strand of hair from her eyes, wondering why her stomach was suddenly in knots.

Marcy tucked an arm around Katie’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Yes, Gabe, certainly, but also you,” she said quietly. “Luke will come around, Katie . . . when he’s ready.”

(Lessman, Julie. A Hope Undaunted (Winds of Change Book #1): A Novel (p. 489-91). Baker Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.)

Name two characters from two unrelated books that you feel would make for great literary siblings (whether in terms of getting along, or being a constant head-to-head combat)

So, from my books or from someone else's? Hmm... I'll do both! I think it would be so fun to see Charity O'Connor (from Julie Lessman's Daughters of Boston series) and Scarlett O'Hara (from Margret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind) as sisters! They are very much alike, in my opinion, and both Irish Catholic, so it wouldn't be too much of a long shot. I could see them getting into fights over beaus and dresses, then reconciling to team up against another sibling. Evil perfection, right? Of course, once Charity becomes the wonderful, sweet, Godly sister she is now, she would transform the cruel, selfish Scarlett into a loveable character!

From mine, on the other hand... Personally, I'd like to see Rhys Sterling pair up with everybody. He'd butt heads with Keaton, be best buds with Julius, be adored by Lady Samantha (y'all haven't met her yet...), but--most of all--I think he would work well with Rina. Maybe because he's so much like Rina's "brother" Julius, or maybe just because their both rum-drinking card sharks with a charismatic personality to hide their brokenness. They would get along and get on each other's nerves perfectly. I also think Cade Darren (from Beyond the Inner Storm) and Xavier Bennet (from Held Captive) could be twins separated by nearly two hundred years.

What sibling trope would you like to write in the future?

Probably the Sister vs Sister love triangle. I loved and hated this trope in A Passion Most Pure, because it's so tense and dramatic and yet so hard to pull off perfectly. Julie Lessman did a fantastic job of creating a believable sibling rivalry between Faith and Charity (while making both characters loveable...okay, jury's still out on Charity). I know I'm kind of iffy on how much drama I can handle, but I would love to try my hand at this trope. I've pretty much done every other one.

Of course, I'd love to write a big, close-knit family like mine, but I have a hard time finding the setting and characters that feel right. I can't accurately base the family off of mine, probably because half of my siblings are still toddlers with little personality.

Which of your own sibling groups would you love to join?

Rina and Xavier's children--Dick and Mav, and several more that y'all haven't met yet. Their family is so unique and close-knit, despite the separate of sea, time, differences, past mistakes, etc. I love each siblings individually and the family as a whole. I think I'd fit in pretty good...just not with my five-foot height.

If you could adopt only one of your fictional siblings as your own sibling, who would it be?

Only one? Man, I don't know! Er...all of them! Probably Rina. Or Kit. Or Dick. Yep. Definitely Dick. He could be the perfect big brother I've always wanted...

What popular sibling/family trope have you used in your stories?

Now, for my question... I've used more family tropes than I have siblings, and one of my favorites is the "black sheep." I've probably employed this one more than once, but that's because it's so prevalent in reality (which is not necessarily a good thing). One of my favorite black sheep...dad burn it, I can't tell you! You don't know that they're the black sheep of the family yet! Ugh!

There's also the red-headed stepchild everyone loves...got one of those!

The Tags

On to the tagging...

My sister Abigail has a blog, but it's focused on cats. And she doesn't write. Therefore, I'm gonna leave her out of this...

I'm gonna tag peeps, but there ain't no guarantee they'll see this. Like I said, not very integrated...

Julie Lessman at Journal Jots. Lord knows she could go on and on 'bout her some siblings...

E.K. Seaver, whose blog has no name.

Jenna Terese at Jenna Terese -- Young Adult Author.

In the outrageously unlikely case that any of them ever read this post, there you go!

List of Questions
Name the most annoying sibling character in any of your stories (Either annoying to you as the author or to any other characters)
Name the most caring sibling character in any of your stories
Name the most entertaining sibling character in any of your stories
Name a sibling character who was inspired in some way by an actual sibling
Name the largest character family (talking family, not family tree) in any of your stories
Provide one to three excerpts from your sibling characters’ dialog from any of your stories
Name three published books which have an amazing portrayal of siblings or family
Name another author’s character family that you wouldn’t mind jumping into
Provide an excerpt of sibling drama or camaraderie from any title (though be sure to credit it)
Name two characters from two unrelated books that you feel would make for great literary siblings (whether in terms of getting along, or being a constant head-to-head combat)
What sibling trope would you like to write in the future?
Which of your own sibling groups would you love to join?
If you could adopt only one of your fictional siblings as your own sibling, who would it be?
What popular sibling trope have you used in your writing?
The Conclusion

I love my big family, and I love studying family dynamics. I try to include a little bit of what I've learned into each and every one of my families--and I love seeing where other authors have done that too! Having a large family is a wonderful blessing, one that I thank God for! He has given me all the love, support, prayer warriors, and best friends I will ever need!

Now, what about y'all? Who are your favorite fictional siblings? Why?

Ask Ann-Marguerite™: Should I Take Writing Advice?

Monsieur Calvin is not what one would call portly, but neither is he the definition of lean. He is short, stocky, with broad shoulders always hunched and thick arms always folded atop his desk. In my few scant meetings with him, I have never seen him in any other position. He slouches over his letters, newsprint, and drafts, eyeglasses tilted at an angle and smoke puffing from his cigarette. His voice is low, almost menacing, as though modeled after the villainous troll in a classic fairytale. True, though he might have rattled me some when first we met to discuss my advice column, he since has proven to be a kindly middle-aged man, if not gruff in appearance.

His mustaches twitches when I walk in this morning, the only movement betraying his knowledge of my presence—although it would have been incroyable if he did not hear me clomping down the hall in my three-inch heels.

“Come, sit. We have much business to talk, mon amie.” He motions to the chair before him, taking a draw on his cigarette as he straightens several papers. As I sit, arranging my skirt, he fishes out a letter and fairly tosses it at me. It misses my outstretched hands and nearly tumbles to the floor, granting me only a second to lean over and grab it before it lands on the hideous grey carpet—which, come to think of it, could stand to be vacuumed.

M. Calvin is scowling when I rise, brows tucked into a v above narrowed eyes.

D’accord, he is gruff in more than appearance.

“Is something the matter?” He has only really asked to meet me once. I have stumbled into his office and demanded an audience, and we have passed each other on the streets, but otherwise there has been no reason to speak with me in person.

Therefore, something is wrong.

“You have only one letter, and I would not think it a good question to ask you. Read it and tell me what you think. You may not be writing in the column this week.”

I finger the envelope, lifting the opened seal and extracting the small piece of stationery paper. “How do I need to get the word out about the column?” The slip is decorated with pink roses and scented with lavender. Mignon, but I cannot be certain the words scrawled within will be of any merit, if what M. Calvin said is of any consolation.

“Marketing is of no consequence, ma cherie.” M. Calvin lets out a stream of smoke, leaning forward on his desk with elbows planted on either side of his typewriter. “There are few writers like yourself anymore, and surely half of them would not be turning to the local newsprint for quality advice.”

I ignore the jab against the caliber of my advice and the obvious disregard for my services, unfolding the paper and scanning the handwritten words.

Bonjour, Ann-Marguerite! I love to write and I have begun a novel, but I wonder if I should be taking advice from my friends and other authors. I have read several things that specifically state what I should be doing to grow as a writer, and I find I am not doing a single one of them. Is it wrong that I disregard other advice?

Merci for your help,

A Wondering Writer

My head jerks up to M. Calvin’s perpetual frown, a grimace of my own shadowing my face. “You call this a pas bien question? Monsieur, this is the very sort of question I love! Non, I will be writing this week, of that you can rest assured.”

I rose from my chair, a reply immediately forming. I bid the editor goodbye and march from his office, and all down the hall I am plotting my response.

Dear Wondering Writer,

You have posed the perfect question! Non, there is nothing wrong at all with following your heart. You have accepted the call to write without hesitation, you have embraced the desire with passion, and you are embarking upon a life-long journey that will alter you forever. Do not plan your journey according to what others say or what publishers and authors dictate.

Just as everyone goes their own route in life, so does each writer take different turns. Some create worlds and languages, relying upon feverish creativity. Others carefully plot each step in a mystery, scheduling every event, every chapter, and every hour of their day down to the last sentence. Others still live in a féerie full of romance and laughter, writing on a whim whenever they please, to bring stories of hope and joy to life.

Of course, it is perhaps hypocritical of one giving advice to advise not to take advice, but that is not entirely what I mean. Learn what you need to learn, for not every author needs a rigorous schedule that might staunch their creative flow. Decide for yourself, as some authors do not function in wild, sporadic bursts of inspiration. Some advice pertains to you, while some does not. Comprenez-vous?

The publishing industry is comprised not of writers but of marketers. They want books written that fit a criteria they can sell; therefore, their advice would not help you write the story you are meant to tell. Other authors have only been down their path, and so they only speak from their personal experience. Not every love story is the same. Neither is every writing journey.

Writing is an art, for which there cannot be rules or set guidelines. Most advisors attempt to strategize and carefully outline exactly how your writing process or your writing itself should be. Dictatorship or rules inhibit creativity, rendering your writing lifeless, uninspired, and a cookie-cutter representation of what has been told to you.

I need not say it again, but your question can separate into specific inquiries. Should you be writing a novel as your first project? Most say non. If, however, you can handle the pressure, write however long a story you want! Be aware that your first story will not be perfect. It may never be completed, never meet your expectations, never be published, never sell. It is a risk you must take, as true a gamble as any other.

Should you write this particular thing in this particular manner? I do not know. Only God can tell you, for He is the one fueling you and inspiring you and giving you this story. His is the guiding hand, so follow Him above anyone else. Man shall let you down, every time.

But the Lord is steadfast and sure. Trust in Him, His advice, and His purpose for you and your writing.

Should you take writing advice? Honestly, I would say not to. The advice out there contradicts itself as it is. Here am I, advise against advice. That should tell you something.

Do not feel discouraged, mon ami, for disregarding advice or not following the rules. Instead, be encouraged by your faith in God’s plan for your life, your writing, and even the 300,000-word novel everyone says you’ll never finish.

Me and Music Tag: A Glimpse into My Musical Inclinations

Y'all probably can tell that I'm not very integrated, so to speak, into the "blog world." How I happened to be tagged, you ask, well, um, my friend Jenna (@www.jennaterese.com) happened to be gracious enough to tag anyone reading her post, which includes me, so here we go!

I love music. I'm listening to some right now. When I read Jenna's Me and Music post, I knew I had to write my own, because I LOVE gushing about my favorite songs.

The rules for this tag are simple:

Link back to original (Sophie @ Me and Ink) so she can see your answers and listen to the tunes.
For every prompt you choose to do,name 1-5 songs (you can use Sophie’s graphics).
Have fun and play your music LOUD! (Unless, of course, your younger siblings are napping.)

Two years ago, I wouldn't have called myself a "crier." As in, movies and books and songs usually don't make me cry. Then, well, a guy named Rhett Butler walked out one night, and this fellow named Tony Stark died suddenly, and I listened to this one song that makes me ugly cry every time I hear it.

"Letters From War" by Mark Shultz. My word, this is such a cry song! I just...I can't. It is SO bittersweet that I...ugh.
"The Christmas Shoes" by Newsong. This year, I put The Christmas Shoes on my watch-every-Christmas movie list, because it is...man. If you've ever heard the song or watched the movie, bless you. I'm going to sob every time I hear this one from now on.
"I Still Believe" by Jeremy Camp. Once you learn the story behind Camp's song, you won't be able to keep yourself from crying whenever you hear it. Talk about powerful, y'all.
Every song we sing in church. Pretty much every song I hear/sing in the church my family has just started going to makes me cry. I leave every service in tears, no lie.

For the most part, I've stuck to the same genre of music for the last three to five years (as in, Christian 2000s punk rock/pop rock/post-grunge), but I have aligned myself with one particular band...

Lifehouse. I'm currently in love with everything about Lifehouse--sound, songs, lyrics, story, Jason Wade. *insert fangirl giggle* Lifehouse was super popular in the very early 2000s, with their 2000 release "Hanging by A Moment." Of course, no one's heard of them now, but me and the rest of the people who gush about them in the comments section of their music videos on YouTube are in love!
Christmas music. Particularly jazz and crooners. As in, Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby and Perry Como. Gotta love 'em!
Oldies. My family has recently discovered the "Oldies but Goldies" station on Pandora, and we're all jamming out to Dion and The Belmonts, The Beach Boys, and The Temptations. I just love the swing sound of 40s-60s pop!

I actually have a ton of songs whose lyrics I love, but I (1) can't think of them all right off the top of my head and (2) couldn't even try to count them all at this point. So...I've picked the best of the best. I think you'll see why soon enough.

"Everything" by Lifehouse.

Find me here, and speak to me

I want to feel you, I need to hear you

You are the light that's leading me to the place

Where I find peace again

You are the strength that keeps me walking

You are the hope that keeps me trusting

You are the life to my soul

You are my purpose

You're everything

And how can I stand here with you

And not be moved by you

Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

"In Christ Alone" by Stuart Townend.

In Christ alone my hope is found,

He is my light, my strength, my song

This Cornerstone, this solid Ground

Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace

When fears are stilled, when strivings cease

My Comforter, my All in All

Here in the love of Christ I stand.

"Who Am I" by Casting Crowns

Who am I, that the Lord of all the earth
Would care to know my name
Would care to feel my hurt?
Who am I, that the bright and morning star
Would choose to light the way
For my ever wandering heart?

Not because of who I am
But because of what You've done
Not because of what I've done
But because of who You are

I am a flower quickly fading
Here today and gone tomorrow
A wave tossed in the ocean
A vapor in the wind
Still You hear me when I'm calling
Lord, You catch me when I'm falling
And You've told me who I am
I am Yours

"Falling In" by Lifehouse.

I can't wait till tomorrow
This feeling has swallowed me whole
And know that I've lost control
This heart that I've followed
Has left me so hollow
That was then, this is now, yeah you have changed everything

Every time I see your face
My heart takes off on a high speed chase
Now don't be scared, it's only love
That we're falling in
I would never do you wrong
Or let you down or lead you on
Don't look down, it's only love
Baby, that we're falling in

Here's where I'm gonna take some creative liberty. I don't listen to pop music, at all, so my knowledge of the songs of the day is limited to what I hear in grocery stores and on movies. Which is why I'm taking songs that have charted from different decades that I love.

"Greensleeves" by Anonymous. Originally a poem, this beautiful song is now paired with a lilting melody commonly heard along with the words "What Child Is This." They had no charts in the 16th century, but there's no denying that this song would have topped them, all negative connotations and conspiracy aside.
"The Wanderer" by Dion. His version came out in 1961 and was #2 that year on Billboard's Hot 100.
"Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor. Came out in the glorious year of 1982 and has been on more charts--and topped most of them--than I can count!
"Hanging by a Moment" by Lifehouse. Released in August of 2000, this amazing song didn't begin to ascend the charts until mid-2001. By the end of the decade, it was #26 of 100!
"Demons" by Imagine Dragons. Probably the only popular song that I know, and only because a Christian band (Anthem Lights) covered it. Released 2013, it topped the charts all over the world.

Ay...I'm not entirely sure I have any "memorable" songs. Let me think...

"Our God" by Chris Tomlin. This is the first (and only) one I think of, because it was probably the first song I can remember ever hearing. My mom used to play the praise band at our old church, and this song was their favorite one. While they practiced (and while they performed too, I think), I would sit underneath the keyboard and listen to them play. I was probably three or four at the time.

All of the aforementioned songs count here, but I'm going to add a few more--as in, the ones I'm singing off-key to the most.

"No Easy Way Out" by Robert Tepper. This song just so happens to play on Rocky IV, so, yeah, I end up singing along with it every time we watch the movie.
"Sick Cycle Carousel" by Lifehouse. Let's put it like this: I don't sing loudly any better than I do quietly.
"Candlelight" by Relient K. Strangest thing, but I really enjoy singing this song.
"Never Be the Same" by Red. This song--man, I love this song--probably fits every category in this post, but I'm going to put it here, simply because of the fact that I (1) sing it and (2) scream it terribly. But, hey, that's what happens when you fall for rock music, am I right?

Gimme a sec...

Everything by Lifehouse. And I mean every song by Lifehouse, not the song "Everything" by Lifehouse. Once I met Jason Wade's voice, my life was complete...I'm only sorry that it took for 14 years to find him. *sigh* And that he happens to be old enough to be my father... *sigh* And married... *sighs*
"Fireflies" by Owl City. It's such a weird, quirky little song, but so much fun!
"Kiss Me" by Sixpence None the Richer. So, my parents are the ones who got me started on "Kiss Me," all because of one CD they never listen to. And the Japanese version? Oh yeah! There's something so...unique about this song.
"Apologize" by OneRepublic. Again, CD, hardly ever listened to, found it one day, BOOM! A beautiful friendship began.
I'll be honest, I never expected to be a rock girl, but I am. I mean, I'm finicky about my rock selections, but I love the 2000s rock, as long as it's Christian, and the oldies--like rock 'n' roll.

"No Name Face" by Lifehouse. Yep. Most of my faves are on this album.
Wow Hits 2005. Technically, it's just a CD full of tracks from other albums, but it's got a great deal of goodies on it, so...
Now That's What I Call Christmas. From 2001, both CDs have the ultimate Christmas songs.

Honorable mention goes out to every other song by Lifehouse that I did not mention (like "Storm" and "You and Me" and "Who We Are"), "Baby It's Cold Outside" by Dean Martin (and subsequent artists), "I'll Be Home for Christmas" by Bing Crosby, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" by Judy Garland (and subsequent artists), everything by Elvis, "White Christmas" by Clyde McPhatter and The Drifters, "You Raise Me Up" by Selah, the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack, John Williams in general, "Victory In Jesus" by Eugene Bartlett (and the church choir), "I'll Fly Away" by Albert E. Brumley (and also the church choir), and every Veggietales Silly Song ever recorded.

Yep. I love music.

Also, if anyone reading this post is a blogger, YOU HAVE BEEN TAGGED! Enjoy the music!

Author Interview: Linyang Zhang!

I got the AMAZING privilege to interview my friend (and fellow writer) Linyang Zhang the other day, and I am super excited to share with y'all this awesome young writer!

Read our interview on my blog, Gabbing With Grace! Be sure to join me next month for another author interview!

Author Interview: Linyang Zhang

Over the last few months, Linyang Zhang has become a great friend! She is budding young author with a sweet personality and a love for God, and, just as I have enjoyed getting to know her, I hope that you will take the time to get to know her as a person and a teenaged indie author!

You will remember that this day one month ago was National Indie Author day, and I took the time to support some of my fellow authors and interviewed R. M. Archer. If you haven't yet, you can read my indie author post ,here. I just finished reading one of R.M.'s books, The Mirror-Hunter Chronicles, and you can read my review of it ,here!

I told y'all then that I would be taking a day each month to share another one of my Christian indie author friends with you, and I'm following up on that promise!

Today, you get to meet Linyang!

Linyang Zhang is a Chinese-American Christian who has an affinity for coffee ice cream and lemon pastries. She enjoys learning new languages and dabbles in translation. She writes to glorify her King and to touch the souls of others. When she's not studying, sleeping, or working on a project she enjoys Christopher Nolan movies, listening to music, and watching anime. She currently resides in Eastern Mass as a student.

As a reader, I love learning about what inspires and prompts authors to write. Sometimes, that's the books they read, the movies they watched, their childhood experiences, or even what they do when they're not writing.

GJ: What first inspired you to write?

LZ: Most likely reading. I had a very strong love for reading as a child. I remember when I was around eight or so saying that I didn’t want to write stories, only to read them, but I think one day I found that the stories I wanted to read the most were the ones inside me. Most of my early story ideas were inspired off of books that I really enjoyed as well.

GJ: What are the driving forces behind your writing now?

LZ: One main reason why I write is to touch readers’ hearts and souls, to make them think about things in a different way than they would before. I also want to experiment with combining elements from Eastern and Western fiction to create something completely unique. But most of all I want to spread the Truth that sets men free.

GJ: Can you name any authors who have inspired your voice in different ways? How can you see their influence in your writing?

LZ: One thing I noticed about myself is, if I write right after reading something, I write like that author. If I was reading Gone With the Wind, I start using long sentences. If I was reading Charles Dickens, my writing starts carrying a Victorian feel to it. I think that Ray Bradbury was one of the authors that I admired most; I really love his prose and try to emulate it in my own writing. But overall, I think I’ve developed a pretty unique voice for myself that I’m satisfied with.

GJ: What are some of your most favorite books/genres—to read and to write?

LZ: Some of my favorite books would include The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, East of Eden by John Steinbeck, Night on the Galactic Railroad by Kenji Miyazawa, My Sweet Orange Tree by José Mauro de Vasconcelos, Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, and Fahrenheit 451 and Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. Nowadays I mostly read classic lit and manga. While I don’t care much for reading fantasy, I really enjoy writing it because of the freedom it allows for creating new worlds. I think I’ll focus on contemporary fiction more in the future, however.

GJ: What do you do when you aren’t writing?

LZ: I make music! I play piano and make arrangements and covers, and I’ve also started dabbling in digital music. I occasionally watch some anime and play some games, as well. But most of the time you can find me studying or sleeping.

Linyang has some published works, which you can read on Webnovel. It's always more interesting to the author's "side of the story" that book reviews and descriptions often don't tell us.

GJ: You have two stories published on Webnovel—can you tell me a little bit about them?

LZ: Sure thing! The first is a short story called Yanhua (meaning Fireworks) split into seven parts. It follows a day in the life of a boy who is given a premonition of a terrible future, as well as a choice to change it. It’s probably the first and only thing that I’m proud of writing, actually.

The second is a novella called Abluvion, and it’s a bit of an afterthought to one of my current projects, set in a time thousands of years after the end of aforementioned project. It’s a post-apocalyptic story about a guy who wakes up with a mission to kill a certain someone. As to why, he is yet to find out.

GJ: Which story was the easiest to write, and what was the hardest? Where did you stumble and second-guess yourself in your writing?

LZ: Yanhua was definitely the easiest. I have a better time with short stories than with long works. It’s harder for me to see the complete picture then.

As for Abluvion…to be completely honest I regret a bit for publishing it so soon, as there is still a lot I could work on with it. However, it’s also taught me several lessons: it’s okay to leave a story for a while before editing it again, editing and revisions are very important and hard to do, and that it’s best not to declare something as done while being impatient and tired. Maybe one day I’ll go back to edit it over again, but for now I’ll let it serve as a valuable reminder to myself.

GJ: What are you working on now?

LZ: I’m currently working on three different projects! I’ll share a little about the one that’s most important to me. It’s a fantasy saga called Thirteen Ways to Infinity split into thirteen installments, and if I were to sum the whole thing up simply, I’d say it’s about sinners who ate from the Tree of Life.

GJ: Do you mind sharing a little bit about your writing process for this story? Are you pantsing it or plotting it? How far along are you?

LZ: This story is the one that I first started writing, and back then, I had no idea that it was going to turn into what it is today. In fact, the most important premise I didn’t even come up with until a few months ago. I’d say that currently I have an overall vision for what is going to happen, but the outline for each installment is subject to change as I write. So I’d say a mixture of both pantsing and plotting, depending on how much I’ve thought about certain parts. Currently I’m working on part four out of thirteen, which I’m pretty excited about.

As an author, I know that there are a lot of emotions that go into writing (and that come out of it) and lessons that are to be learned. Not everyone learns the same things, and not everyone has the same advice for other aspiring authors. If you're interested in my take on some of the questions all writers ask, you can join me every Wednesday for Ask Ann-Marguerite ™: The Official Writer's Advice Column. But today, I've asked Linyang some of the deeper questions.

GJ: What are your thoughts for other aspiring writers on writing?

LZ: I’d say don’t hesitate to start writing! And once you do, make sure to practice, practice, practice. Try to write every day. And even if you get discouraged, remember that one day you’ll be able to look back and see how far you’ve gone.

GJ: What do you want your readers to take away from your writing?

LZ: I think mostly it would be enough for me if the reader feels something. Even if it’s something small, as long as they feel something that’s not completely bad, as long as they have something to think about sometimes, something that shows them something they haven’t seen before, that’d be enough for me.

GJ: Have you ever endured any discouragement being a young author? If so, what inspired you to persevere?

LZ: Sometimes after doing a review swap or asking for feedback and critique, I’ll be disappointed because I hadn’t realized that my writing was going a certain way, or that I still have a long way to go. But usually then I remind myself that feedback and critique will help me grow, and that they are part of the journey to accomplishing my dreams.

GJ: What are your greatest aspirations for your future, be it as a person or as a writer?

LZ: I have a lot of big dreams, most of which seem a bit ridiculous. But I think what I really want to aspire to do is to write something that kids will be forced to read in their high school English classes. Something that has literary merit and will last after I’m gone.

GJ: What has being a writer taught you?

LZ: Writing has taught me a lot of things. It’s taught me to have patience and to work hard, to be humble and have thick skin, and that killing characters actually isn’t as fun as we think it is. Being a writer, a creator of a fantasy world, has also put what it feels like to be God a little into perspective. Of course, these two things are on entirely different planes of existence, but through being a writer I’ve been able to understand a little more about the greatness of God.

It was so much fun to get to know Linyang on a more author-y level, and I hope that y'all will do your part to support indie authors and check out her work! You can also find her on her Instagram and her new website!

I really appreciate Linyang taking the time to let me interview her, and I can't wait to showcase more indie authors throughout the coming months!

Happy reading and Merry Christmas!

Short Story Saturday!

Did y'all join me for Short Story Saturday yesterday? I hope so! I got the chance to share the first part of my Christmas short story, Home for Christmas. If you didn't read it yesterday, you can catch up so that when next Saturday rolls around, you'll be prepared! I'll be sharing part 2 of Home for Christmas, then my Daughters of the Seven Seas short story, A Christmas to Remember on the 19th.

Read Home for Christmason my blog here!

Don't forget--you still have a chance to win a copy of The Gift of Her Heart: An Arlington Family Novella! Just click here to enter!

Short Story Saturday Begins!

Hello, hello, and welcome to the first ever Short Story Saturday installment! I do hope you'll join me as I share one of my Christmas short stories! Of course, these stories are short--only a few thousand words long--so if you're looking for even more holiday cheer, then I suggest you enter my (almost) month-long giveaway for my latest release, The Gift of Her Heart. Enter here!

I actually wrote this short story sometime in July of 2018, I believe it was. It was published in my local newspaper later during Christmastime, and I went and published it as an eBook after I released Held Captive and Prisoner at Heart.

Before sharing it with y'all, I knew I had to do some editing and rewriting, so if you've read this before, you will find it changed. I recently updated the cover, also, so let me know what you think of the new version!

Now, without further ado, I present Home for Christmas! (Part 2 will be coming on Dec. 12th!)

Seattle, WA
December 1945

It was Christmas Eve. Myriads of snow flurries created a thick blanket of white crystals outside the apartment window, burnishing the sill with frost. Colored lights sparkled from the neighboring buildings across the street, each lively sparkle dancing to its own merry tune. The tree-trimming was finally complete, and little Bonnie was setting a Christmas record into the phonograph at that very moment.

And yet, for all the laughter, all the warmth, and all the jolly “ho ho ho!” ringing from the department stores downtown, the only adornment on Kate Merritt’s face was a frown.

The war had ended months ago during the summer, and yet there still had been no word of Kenneth. No letters, no calls, no hospital records, not even a report of his death. The simple not knowing was eating her alive, each possible fate worse than the last. The more she mulled it over, questioning and reasoning and hoping and praying, the more her heart grew sore.

Was he alive, on his way home to her that very moment? Of course, that was only too ideal, to assume a Christmas homecoming when there had been no word since his final letter in March. She was a fool to wish for something so grand. It was most likely that he was a prisoner of war, rotting away in some Japanese prison.

Perhaps it was that he already had passed, falling in the line of fire or dying in a hospital. His dog tags could have been lost and himself too hurt to relay personal information. He would have died alone, with neither family nor friends, and without identification, no proper burial.

If such were the case, she would never have heard. No one would have known to look for a widow and child.

She would have felt it, though, had he died, a thousand times more acutely than she had felt his absence the last four years. The mere sensing, the inward knowledge, the faith, that he was still out there somewhere should have been enough. It had been consolation since August, and Kate knew well that it should have remained so.

But it was Christmas. And no longer a Christmas during a war, but a Christmas during peacetime.

Kenneth should have been here.

Her husband should have been home, celebrating the most wonderful time of the year with his beloved family. Laughing as they watched their daughter open up her gifts, singing as they hung ornaments on the tree. Using the mistletoe they always hung as an excuse to steal a kiss. Snuggling up by the fireplace with mugs of hot cocoa once Bonnie was in the bed.

He should have been here to resume a normal life, returning to the garage, letting Kate quit the diner to spend time with Bonnie...filling their empty apartment with many more children.

But he wasn’t. More than half the men who had been deployed weren’t. Half the country wasn’t alive for Christmas this year.

Bing Crosby began to croon, the crackle of a spinning record and the notes of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” snagging Kate’s attention, whilst fat teardrops tugged at her lashes. She swiped at the tears with the heels of her hands, preventing them from spilling onto her cheeks and alarming Bonnie.

What a sap she was, moping when she had many other blessing for which to be thankful, when she served a God of miracles who would stop at nothing to bring her husband home.

Speaking of blessings...

Bonnie skipped over to her side, as though drawn by her tears, although it was quite apparent by the bright smile gracing her little rosebud mouth that she was completely oblivious. Tugging on the hem of her mother’s apron, the six-year-old peered up through long raven lashes and lisped out the question Kate was most afraid of: “Is Daddy gonna be home for Chis-mas?”

There was a twinkle in those sapphire eyes, not unlike the twinkle that had once been so clear in her father’s eyes. Kate sighed, biting down on her trembling lip to hold in the tears and remind her of what stood right before her—which was not her Kenny. She set a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, drawing strength from her wispy frame. “I’m not sure, baby. You just keep praying. All right?”

A halo of dark curls bounced up and down along with the flounces on Bonnie’s dress as she hopped and nodded at the same time. “Okay, Mommy,” she replied, then scurried from the den, likely heading to her room to kneel at her bedside as she’d done every morning and every night since the war had begun.

Kate straightened, letting out a deep breath as she urged her tears to return into her eyes. Oh, to have a faith like Bonnie’s. She glanced up at the ceiling, imagining that she could see through the five floors above her to the sky, where huge grey snow clouds gathered to hide the heavens. Where God gazed down at His creation, watching her that very second. Did He listen to her now, as she begged for her husband? Did He listen to Bonnie as she prayed for her daddy?

She knew He did, and she knew that He would answer. When and what, she didn’t know. All that she could do was wait.

God...please. She couldn’t think of anything else. Her prayer was and had been the same since the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor four years ago. But grace was sufficient, was it not? For it was by that grace that Kate knew she was understood, despite her lack of words.

She trudged into the kitchen, soon finding herself humming along with “Mele Kalikimaka” playing on the record. Christmas cookies had been baked and plated. Gifts had been bought and delivered to the post office to send home to Missouri. The house was decorated with tinsel and lights. There was virtually nothing left to do but wait for Santa to arrive at midnight. And to pray for Kenny.

So she moaned, plopped down at the dinner table, nestled her chin in her hands, and watched each tick of the second hand on the wall clock, counting down until Christmas Day. Aside from Bing Crosby and the Andrews sisters, the house was quiet, lulled into a complacent silence by the pop of the record and the whir of the air conditioning unit in the window.

A minute exactly passed before the doorbell rang, jolting Kate from her chair. No one was expected, and certainly no one had any reason to be stopping by her apartment at six pm on Christmas eve.

Which left, really, only one possible explanation.

Her feet suddenly flew to the door, and she beat Bonnie there by a half a second.

The little girl seized the doorknob, ready to jerk it open with the excuse that “It might be Daddy! It might be Daddy!

It just might be, Kate. You never know. She tamped down any doubts and let a seedling of hope bloom within her heart. It just might be… Without looking inside the peek hole in the door, she unlocked it and swung it wide open to reveal a familiar young woman wearing a giant smile and a huge trench coat, multiple parcels in her arms.

“Miss Lilly!” Bonnie ran up to Lilly Callahan, Kate’s high school friend and fellow waitress at Betsy’s Diner, almost knocking the poor lady down when she threw herself like a torpedo at the Lilly’s swollen stomach.

“It’s nice to see you too, Miss Bonnie.” Lilly ruffled Bonnie’s curls with a hearty chuckle, then held her hand out to Kate, quickly pulling her into a half-hug.

Kate embraced her friend for a moment before she tugged back with a scolding frown. “Goodness, Lilly, what are you doing all the way over here, on Christmas Eve, in the snow, when you need to be home resting with your family?”

Her dear friend, whose own husband Jim had returned months ago from the battlefield, was in the family way for the second time since her marriage before the war, and at times Kate found herself jealous over her friend’s happiness. Still, Lilly definitely didn’t need to be there, especially so late.

Lilly shook her head, smirking all the while. “Poppycock, Katie. I’ve come bearing gifts for my favorite Bonnie lass, and I don’t want to hear you yapping on like Jim does about me goin’ out-and-about,” she explained, stepping across the threshold and shutting the door with the thud of finality.

There was no argument about it then, was there? Kate sighed, rolling her eyes at her friend’s no-nonsense attitude, and led her into the den.

As soon as Lilly sat herself down on the couch, Bonnie jumped into the seat beside her, eager as a beaver to open up her gifts.

Lilly peered down at Bonnie, then up at Kate with a raised eyebrow. “Well, now, I guess we ought to ask Mommy if we can open these here up now or if we should wait until tomorrow. What do you say, Mommy?”

Kate hitched a shoulder, returning the smile both Lilly and Bonnie sent her. “I don’t see why not. Bonnie, what do you say to Miss Lilly?”

“Thank you, Miss Lilly!” she exclaimed, taking from Lilly’s hands a newspaper-wrapped box.

Before long, wrapping paper covered the floor, Bonnie laid snuggled in a blanket under the Christmas tree, and Kate sat restless on the couch with a cup of coffee in her hands. What she was waiting for—other than midnight—that stole her sleep, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted Kenny there, no matter what it took.

Merry Christmas, my love. Wherever you are.

A sob wrestled with the mouth she clamped shut, tears springing to her eyes. She could still remember their first night in their new home, when Kenny had picked her up at the top of the stairs and carried her in his arms through the hallway to their apartment. If only she could feel his arms around her once more. Even if just to say goodbye.

* * *

Kenneth Merritt took in a deep, bracing breath, letting a gentle grin form on his lips. He was home. Finally home, after four long, grueling years of war, in the warmth and familiarity of one of Seattle’s many apartment buildings. So maybe it wasn’t exactly the sort of home most men dreamed of, the ones his buddies had told him stories of—large ranch houses in the plains of the west, cozy log cabins in the Great Smoky Mountains, stylish beach cottages on the shores of the Pacific—but it was home and it was his.

Man, it’d it be great to sleep in his bed tonight and eat real food for breakfast in the morning. And then he would spend Christmas with someone other than his fellow soldiers. Someone with a smile like warm cider and a voice like golden honey.

Katie.

Most important of all, beyond Christmas celebrations and food and a comfortable bed and life itself, was Kate. For the first time since his first—and last—week-long furlough this time three years ago, Ken would hold her in his arms, breathe in her scent, wake up to her beautiful face.

And see Bonnie. Three years had been too long. His little baby was all grown; would’ve had her sixth birthday last month. To think of all he had missed, experiencing such milestones only through the few letters that had come through only for the first two years he’d been gone.

But that was over now. God had brought him home.

Ken wobbled up the steps to the door of the apartment building, ignoring the ache in his tired leg and the sting beneath his arms. Good sense would’ve kept him in a Portland hotel tonight rather than taking the nine o’clock bus to Seattle. He could’ve easily gotten a good night’s sleep and been home to greet his family about lunchtime Christmas Day, assuming the bus could even make it that soon during the Christmas rush.

But then he would have missed Bonnie opening up her presents and perhaps even the whole holiday—which would’ve defeated the whole purpose of being home for Christmas.

He swung open the door, crossing the threshold and walking up to the front desk. It by grace—and the full moon streaming through the windows—that he could see his way through the lobby. Out of instinct, his hand dove into his pocket and fished for the room key...that he didn’t have,

Drat. Well, he couldn’t just knock on the door and jolt the girls from their sleep. Way to give someone a heart attack. Surely Margie wouldn’t mind if he borrowed her spare.

Ken glanced over his shoulder as though he were a thief in the night, then shuffled around the desk and carefully slipped Room 32’s key into his trouser pocket. He could return it in the morning, and Margie would never know the difference.

Now just to make it up those stairs.

One step at a time, Ken swung himself up the staircase to the second floor (thank God they didn’t live on the top floor), then hobbled over to the fifth door on the left. The door hadn’t changed in the least, of course, but rather what awaited him behind the door was different. He dragged in a deep breath, an odd uncertainty settling over him like a dark cloud.

What if Kate didn’t even live here anymore? What if she thought him dead and had remarried? Or...what if she still lived here, married to him, but wouldn’t care to be when she saw him, only half a man with one leg? Would she still love him as fervently as she had before he’d left, or had the time and distance separated them? God, he prayed not.

Lord expel these doubts and give me courage. And help Kate to accept me and love me like she used to.

Ken slid the key into the lock, a tremor coursing from his leg to his hand that caused the key to shake. Deep breath. He put his wait on one crutch and used his other hand to steady the key, turning it in one jerky motion. It clicked, and after sticking the key into his pocket, he set his hand on the knob and turned. Slowly, steadily, he creaked the door open just a little before peering into a room that was covered in wrapping paper.

Placed in the center of the den was a tall Christmas tree that had been decorated with adorable ornaments obviously made by little hands. Wrapped up in a blanket like a present under the tree was a bundle of black curls. Only one person had hair so thick and dark.

Bonnie. Well, at least he was in the right place.

He eased the door open a wee bit more, glancing around the corner to where the couch sat up against the wall. Apparently Kate hadn’t done any rearranging—that was a good sign. In front of the couch was a small coffee table where a mug had been left, a ring of brown liquid surrounding it. The woman still didn’t use coasters. However, what really caught his attention was the figure laying awkwardly on the couch.

She hadn’t bothered to change into her pajamas; her long-sleeved green dress was rumpled and splattered with chocolate. White embellishments that matched the mistletoe hanging over the doorframe dotted the collar and sleeves, reminding him of the gown she’d worn on their wedding. Memories flood his mind, all good ones, yes, but still so bittersweet.

He looked away and took in the waterfall of wavy caramel hair that caressed her back and shoulders. From where he stood he could make out her features—the pert nose that would wrinkle in confusion; high cheekbones upon which were splayed long lashes; thin brows that arched over eyes he knew were the truest green he’d ever seen. Full, wine red lips. Lips that he’d give anything to kiss.

“Oh, Katie,” he groaned, his heart stuttering at the sight of her, his pulse tripping as the realization struck him. She was home.

Then she stirred, shifting slightly as she released a yawn. Had she heard him? Shoot, he hadn’t intended to wake her up. Granted, sneaking into the house and scaring her slap silly by appearing in their bed on Christmas morning probably wasn’t any better of an idea.

Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment he was sure she was awake, but then she snuggled into the couch and buried her head in it with a soft moan.

Now what? Ken just stood there, the pain in his leg no longer noticeable as he watched the gentle rise and fall of his wife’s sleeping form. He had just eased forward to gaze down at Bonnie when the clock in the kitchen struck twelve, the sound jarring him out of his reverie and jolting Kate from the couch.

Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, Katie mumbled something about Santa Claus, then rose from the couch to leave the room. Except she didn’t leave. She turned her head, glancing right at him. Then, with a hand to her chest, she stumbled backward, eyes wide and wild.

Oh, God...let everything be all right.

Copyright © 2020 Grace Ann Johnson

Available for Preorder...

Ooh...look what's available for preorder right now! Do you need a late Christmas present for yourself? Then I recommend grabbing a preorder copy of Roseanna M. White's upcoming release, Dreams of Savannah!

You can snag a copy at ,Barnes & Noble, ,Amazon, ,Christian Book, and ,Roseanna's online store (copy will be signed by the author)!

Also, if you're interested in getting a daily sneak peek of Dreams of Savannah before the release dat, you can sign up for sneak peek. The peeks began December 1st, but you'll be allowed to catch up and enjoy a page every day until closer to the release!

Not sure if Dreams of Savannah is your kind of read? Check out this intriguing blurb!

Cordelia Owens can weave a dream around anything and is well used to winning the hearts of everyone in Savannah with her whimsy. Even when she receives word that her sweetheart has been lost during a raid on a Yankee vessel, she clings to hope and comes up with many a romantic tale of his eventual homecoming to reassure his mother and sister.

But Phineas Dunn finds nothing redemptive in the first horrors of war. Struggling for months to make it home alive, he returns to Savannah injured and cynical, and all too sure that he is not the hero Cordelia seems determined to make him.

As the War Between the States rages ever nearer and Savannah’s slaves start sneaking away to the islands off the coast to join the Yankees, both Phin and Cordelia get caught up in questions they never thought they’d have to ask–questions that threaten the very dreams of a future they’d cherished.

Those who have enjoyed authors like Jody Hedlund, Jocelyn Greene, Tracie Peterson, Tamara Alexander, Siri Mitchell, Laura Frantz, Julie Lessman, and Beth White will ADORE Roseanna M. White's Christian historical romance. And if you love Gone with the Wind (just like me), then it's a guarantee that you'll at least like Dreams of Savannah. I'd go ahead that bet that you'll love it!

Click the link and preorder NOW!

Ask Ann-Marguerite™: Why Should I Write?

To my right, a soft glow streams in through the window, bathing the world in warmth and wonder. Remains of night, each shadow and whisper of wind, entwine with dawn’s joyous twinkling, the break of day a dance upon le journal I hold in my hands. As the novembre breeze sways within the branches of trees, the sunlight catches through the leaves and obscures the ink print before me.

I adjust my lunettes and shift in my seat, unfolding the newspaper until it fully blocks the rising sun that peeks over the rooftops of downtown Paris. My eyes drift to the only section of the weekly paper I ever bother to read, where is typed the contents of a short, concise little letter.

Dear Ann-Marguerite,

I smile. The sight of my name is a bolster in a world of constant worry, unrealistic deadlines, and inconceivably disheartening news.

For years—I cannot recount the exact number—I have wanted to write. Always I have loved to read, and stories never cease to entertain me. However, I’ve neither the experience nor the expertise to begin. Also, at this time in my life I fear it would be too late for me to invest in writing.

I suppose the question I pose to you is this: Should I write?

Sincerely,

A Dreamer in Doubt

My lips turn down, my fingers involuntarily reaching for the cup of café positioned alongside my typewriter. There is another letter printed beneath it, the both of them barely filling the column the editor granted me a semaine past. This next question is fundamentally the same—although written by a young adolescent. The question is whether or not, and frankly why, they should begin writing at this stage in their life. One too young, the other too old.

I set down my coffee cup, fold the paper and lay it behind my typewriter, then poise my fingers over the keys. The traditional publishing industry, for all its merits, has quickly distinguished the joys, hopes, and aspirations of writers across the world. The question is no longer whether or not they are willing to put their heart and soul into their work. It is simply should they?

The answer is simple.

I should know, for I have asked myself and been asked many times before. The answer remains the same, in every possible case.

You should write because you can do nothing else.

You should write because you have a true passion for stories, for words, and for worlds.

You should write because it is a gift that you have been given that cannot be revoked, suppressed, or discarded.

Age and experience does not factor into writing. Experience comes with writing, and therefore one cannot gain it unless one ventures forth, and age is inconsequential. The greatest writers begin as children, and are oftentimes published as young adults, but still the maturity of an elderly person is the best of advantages.

My advice…

I peer up at the second sheet of paper now nestled in my typewriter. If I were asked to encourage all those who wondered why, who were uncertain if they ought to begin writing in the first place, how would I do so? I could not merely wish them luck and send them on their way. All beginning writers need sound advice on every aspect of writing they should encounter, and even beyond into the realms of editing, publishing, and marketing.

I should walk these aspiring writers through every step, and I should begin with the words, why should you not?

Dear Dreamer,

What reason remains that you should not begin writing? No matter the time or the place, the juncture or the period—that which resides in your heart is left unchanged. If what has been placed within you is the desire to tell a story, to one or to millions, then why should you refuse to?

You have nothing to lose by writing, but rather everything to gain.

Do not let the conventions, the norms, or the naysayers of society discourage you from pursing the call God has laid upon your heart. The journey will not be easy, oui, but what does not kill you makes you stronger. Take each step lightly, with wonder, emerging yourself slowly. Enjoy both the hardships and the accomplishments alike.

Should you begin writing now? Oui! Write now, write tomorrow, and write your yesterday. Fill them all, the days of the past and the days yet to come, with contentment, peace, joy. And, most importantly, with amour.

But...if you have no desire to embrace the call or endure the trials, then I advise you not to force yourself. Writing is for everyone and no one. The pressure is immense. I do not wish to dissuade you; however, being a writer is no easy task. It is not a seldom practice, something dictated by will or whim. It comes...and so quickly it dominates. It is a passion, and no passion can be contained, restrained, controlled. The nature of word themselves are so powerful, awesome and glorious. They stem from Christ Himself, the Word in flesh who dwelt among us. Who are we to undermine His might and the might of the words He uses?

Being a writer is one of the most amazing blessing you could be given. I ask you not take it for granted, that you accept it for all that it is: freedom and unlimited power. You have the ability to spell out destinies, shape young minds, and renew worn souls. This...is fathomless, inescapable, unexplainable.

You should write, and you should do so with your whole heart. It will not be simply executed or grasped immediately—and so I ask that you let me guide you. The facets of writing are many and more, but we will learn them together, mon ami.

Come, let us write.

GIVEAWAY!!!!

Y'all, I am so EXCITED right now that I can't even write a coherent post...so let me just be simple here.

I'm hosting a giveaway.

My first ever giveaway, actually.

Of The Gift of Her Heart.






I have only FIVE e-copies available.

So hurry.

Do you want to enter to win The Gift of Her Heart?

Click here!

Interested, but want more info?

Click here!

Not interested at all?

Tell your friends and family, and share on social media! Or...enter the giveaway and if you win you can easily turn your prize into a free Christmas present! (Just don't tell the recipient that no money was involved...that usually doesn't go over real well.)

Want to know more about the book?

Click here: The Gift of Her Heart: An Arlington Family Novella.

The giveaway starts RIGHT NOW and ends December 23rd! I'll announce the winners on my blog, Gabbing with Grace, on Christmas Eve!

Don't forget--click here to enter and here for more information!

Have a very merry Christmas!