Janice Hanna's Blog, page 18

A Week of Firsts: The Wedding Caper

The Story Behind the Story: Gone Fishing

Welcome to a week of firsts, where I’m sharing the first chapter(s) from several of my books. Today’s offering is from one of my favorite stories, Gone Fishing, recently re-published by the Forget Me Not line. Long before I ever came up with Bella, Aunt Rosa, Uncle Laz or any of the other crazy characters from the Weddings by Bella series, there was Sassy. Enjoy her crazy tale!

Chapter One

Sassy Hatchett slipped her legs over the edge of the rickety wooden pier and dipped her toes into the warm, murky waters of the Biloxi River. She twisted a fishhook from her hat and then reached into the front pocket of her worn, blue denim overalls to pull out a small plastic bag filled with ice-cold shrimp. She yanked one out, then ran the clean silver hook straight through it.

“Why can’t everything be this easy?”

A host of irritating mosquitoes suddenly swept down upon her. She swatted them away with a wild swing of her right arm. “Pesky critters. Get on out of here.” They refused to budge, though she continued to slap at the air. Sassy pulled a can of mosquito repellent from the tackle box and sprayed it in every conceivable direction. They disappeared on sight. “Serves you right.”

Reaching for the comfort of a familiar wooden fishing pole, she tried to settle down, though an unexplained anger still gripped her. Troubling thoughts rolled madly through her head. She forced herself to turn her attention to the skies.

“Well, here I am again, Lord. Just You, me, and a mess of catfish I ain’t caught yet.” She lifted up a small, empty ice chest toward heaven, a sign she half-expected to see it filled before the conversation ended. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, Lord. Nothing seems to be going right. Seems like everything gets me madder than a hornet, and this heat isn’t helping thing either.”

The late August heat enveloped her like a shroud. She paused to lift her hat, wiping the ring of sweat from her brow. Everything was so much easier when Joe was here to help me.

Sassy’s thoughts drifted to her husband, and tears began to flow. Six years had barely begun to ease the pain of his passing. Her heart still longed for him; not a day went by she didn’t think of him, wish she could have just one more moment with the love of her life. The day she’d pulled the ’n Joe’s from the sign out in front of their Bait and Tackle shop had been the saddest day of her life.

“It’s just too much, Lord. Running the store by myself sure ain’t no fun. Everything’s falling apart at the seams. I know I complain about this a lot, but every day it just gets worse. The lock’s broken on the front door and the roof needs to be patched. I can’t get up there to do it myself. And the nerve of those vendors, trying to talk me into selling my bait recipes to the big named companies. I won’t do it, Lord. I won’t!”

The tears flowed down her cheeks. Sassy added a couple of sinkers and a floater to her line and cast it out into the water as far as it would go. With the release of the line, she felt the weight of her problems lift a little.

“I’m sorry, Lord. I know I whine a lot. I do thank You for the friends You’ve given me—for Sue Ellen and Leota and Dottie Jean.” And Wendell.

Wendell. For weeks now, Joe’s oldest and dearest friend had ventured in and out of the shop on a regular basis. Seemed every time Sassy turned around, he came by again—to look at the latest in custom rods, to buy magazines, knives, bait, fishing line—anything and everything to fill his tackle box. Wendell seemed anxious to learn all he could about fishing before retiring.

Not that she minded. He had always been so kind, so tolerant, finding something pleasant to say with each visit. Somehow, just the thought of him brought an unexpected smile to her lips.

Sassy felt a sudden tug on her line. “Oooh, I’ve got something.” She clasped the reel and beginning to work it in her favor, then pulled in a large catfish, a fine catch. He looked up at her with sad, woeful eyes.

“Looks like I’m not the only one having a bad day,” she observed as she pulled him loose. Tossing him into the ice chest, she turned to bait her hook once again.

***

“Wendell Meeks, have you lost your mind?”

“Course not.” Wendell leaned his elbows onto the small table at the Calista Catfish House and grinned at his best friend, Gus, who sat across from him looking stunned.

“Well, what’s gotten into you, then? There are plenty of good women here in Calista without setting your sights on an ornery old thing like Sassy Hatchett. Sassy Hatchett, of all people!” Gus erupted into laughter, causing others in the diner to turn their heads in curiosity.

Wendell lifted his glass of sweet tea and tried to look casual and confident as he took a small sip. His hand trembled, causing the cold liquid to tumble out of the glass and slosh across the bottom half of his face. He carefully dabbed at his mouth and chin with a cloth napkin. “Sassy is a great woman,” he said after a moment. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my time with.” He folded the napkin neatly and laid it in his lap.

Dottie Jean, the diner’s owner, chose that moment to appear with two plates full of steaming crabs, fries and hushpuppies. Placing one down in front of Wendell, she added her thoughts on the matter. “You’ve got your eye on Sassy? You’re a brave soul, Wendell Meeks! She’s a real pistol, that’s for sure. ‘Course, I love her. I always have. Gotta love Sassy.” Dottie Jean’s giggles caused her to lose her grip on Gus’s plate. It hit the table with a soft thud, sending the peppershaker into a tailspin. Wendell grabbed it just as it hit the edge of the table.

“Go ahead and laugh, both of you.” He unfolded his napkin and tucked it into the collar of his starched blue postal shirt. “It won’t do you any good. I know what I’m doing.” His elbow suddenly hit the glass of tea, knocking it off-balance. He managed to catch it before too much could spill out onto the blue and white checkered tablecloth below.

“Uh huh.” Dottie Jean left the table with a “Sure you do” nod, and the most aggravating grin Wendell had ever seen on a woman’s face. He went to work, trying to mop up the mess with his napkin.

Gus continued to laugh until his cheeks turned crimson. “When was the last time you even thought about trying to snag a woman’s heart?” he asked. “Thirty years ago? Forty? And why, in the name of all that’s holy, would you start with a piece of work like Sassy Hatchett? She’s as mad as an old wet hen!”

Wendell didn’t answer for a moment. He shook his head as he continued to dab at the tablecloth. “I’m not sure you’d understand, Gus,” he explained at last.

“Try me.”

Wendell fought to formulate the words. None seemed to come. Truth be known, he hadn’t deliberately avoided married life. In fact, he’d always wished for a loving wife. But the good Lord hadn’t seen fit to give him one, at least, not yet. In the early days, asking a woman out on a date had been a nerve-wracking ordeal. His own shyness and insecurities caused him to put off the matter for years. But now, at sixty, Wendell just couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his mind. He still had a few good years left after retirement, and he didn’t want to spend them alone.

“I don’t expect you to make any sense of this, Gus,” he said quietly. “You’ve got a great wife and a houseful of kids and grandkids. But when a man gets to be my age and he’s shut up all alone in the house, he gets to wishing he had someone to share it with, that’s all. I’ll be retiring from the post office in a couple of years, and I’d like to spend them with—”

“Sassy Hatchett?” Gus shook his head in mock despair. “Everyone in town knows she’s got a bite worse than any shark in the Gulf of Mexico. Talk about a temper. Why, she could kill a man with just a look. Is that the sort of woman you want to spend your retirement years with?”

“Absolutely.” Wendell’s heart began a beat a little harder, just thinking about the possibility. “I know she has a quick tongue,” he said, his heart warming. “I sort of like that side of her. But she’s got a soft side, too. I’ve seen her in church on Sunday mornings. She really loves the Lord. She spends a lot of time up at the altar in prayer.”

“My point, exactly,” Gus said with a firm nod. “She’s repenting.”

“Come on, now.” Wendell popped a piece of crab into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

“I could understand all of this—the temper, the sharp tongue, the nasty disposition—if we were talking about a knockout here.” Gus dumped ketchup all over his hushpuppies. “But she’s no beauty queen. In fact, I’d be willing to bet she hasn’t been over to the Rhonda-Vous House of Beauty to have her hair done in years.” He gestured toward the beauty shop down the street. “And that crazy get-up she wears out on the pier wouldn’t attract much of anything but the flies.”

Wendell bit his lip to keep from responding. Sassy Hatchett had a beauty that ran far deeper than the physical, although Gus had apparently never noticed it. Her gray eyes glistened merrily when she got riled up. Lately they seemed to glisten a lot. Her skin, tanned from years in the sun, seemed firmer than that of most women her age. Her thick, curly hair glistened with a silver shimmer. Even her old, worn fishing hat with its dangling fishhooks held a certain amount of unexplainable charm.

“I don’t know how ole’ Joe Hatchett did it,” Gus rambled on. “Thirty-five years with Sassy. Gotta give a man like that a lot of credit.”

“Joe Hatchett was a good friend of mine,” Wendell said thoughtfully, “and a great man. He loved Sassy from the time he was a kid in school. Loved her till the day he died.”

“Died of a heart attack, poor guy,” Gus mumbled, his mouth full of food. “She probably gave it to him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, I mean it,” he said and then swiped his mouth with the napkin. “Don’t you know the story of how Joe came to open their Bait and Tackle Shop?”

“Yeah, I know.” Wendell swallowed down a couple of French-fries, then took a long, cool drink of the tea. He had heard the tale for years. According to legend, Sassy, who had been born and raised just outside of town, had come out of the womb swinging and swearing. Her parents had given her a good Christian name—though, for the life of them, no one in Calista seemed to be able to remember it. Her own mother had taken to calling her Sassy as a little bitty thing, and the name had stuck.

As the story went, Sassy’s temper would flare up to the boiling point pretty regular-like. Her father, being a good Christian man, would hand her a fishing pole and send her out to the pier at the edge of their property for a time of good, old-fashioned repenting. Young Sassy spent many a day at the edge of the Biloxi fishing and praying, praying and fishing. As her temper grew, so did her ability to catch fish. Day after day she reeled them in.

Once Sassy and Joe Hatchett married, she spent more time than ever with a pole in her hand. After their twins, Tucker and Tilly, came along, she practically set up house on the pier. Rumor was, Joe Hatchett spent so much money on bait that he finally gave in and opened up “Sassy ‘n Joe’s Bait and Tackle” just to keep his head above water financially.

The whole thing made for a great story.

“You can’t believe everything you hear,” Wendell said, as he turned his attention back to Gus. “Besides, I think it’s nice that Sassy has a way to vent her frustrations. Fishing’s a good thing.”

“She’s pretty nearly supplied my restaurant with catfish for the last twenty years.” Dottie Jean reappeared with more napkins. “That’s quite a temper, if you ask me. ‘Course, I’m not complaining. I figure it’s true what the Bible says—”

“What’s that?” Wendell asked.

“‘What Satan meant for evil, God will use for good.’” Dottie smiled with a playful wink as she turned her attention to other customers.

Wendell shook his head in defeat.

“Just answer this one thing,” Gus said, suddenly looking serious. “Is this why you bought Dottie Jean’s boat last month? Why you’ve spent so much time fishing? To get close to Sassy?”

Wendell shrugged. “I like to fish. What can I say?”

“Right, right.” Gus nodded. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’re looking to hook Sassy Hatchett, you’d better have a good piece of stinkbait in your back pocket. Nothing else will work on an old snapper like her.”

He burst into laughter again, this time drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the restaurant. People began to murmur amongst themselves from table to table.

“Sassy Hatchett? Wendell’s taken a liking to that persnickety old thing? Pretty fishy, if you ask me.” The story went around the room and bounced back again, reverberating in his ears.

He stood so quickly the chair nearly toppled over behind him. “Now listen here,” he announced to all curious onlookers as he snagged the chair before it tumbled, “I may be old, but I’m not deaf. You all just mind your own business now, you hear. You leave my love life to me.”

Their laughter nearly deafened him.

****

If you enjoyed this free sample, please purchase a copy of Gone Fishing today.  Thanks for reading!

 

A Week of Firsts: Mismatched in Texas

Mismatched in Texas

Welcome to Day Two of “A Weeks of Firsts,” where I’ll be sharing the first chapter(s) from several of my books. Today I’m sharing from one of my favorite historicals, Mismatched in Texas. It takes place in Poetry, Texas, a real town just east of Dallas (a quaint, lovely place). I visited Poetry before writing the story and had a blast picturing the various shops in my story. Enjoy this sample chapter!

CHAPTER ONE

Poetry, Texas, 1904

 

“Belinda, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. Truly. But what in the world has possessed you? A marriage broker? Do you really think you’re…you’re…”

Belinda Bauer felt heat rising to her cheeks as she waited for her cousin to finish the question.

“Qualified?” Greta said at last, looking more than a bit dubious.

After drawing in a deep breath, Belinda dove into her rehearsed speech. “One does not have to be married in order to arrange marriages,” she explained. “These days, a good match is simply a matter of business. And science.”

“Science?” Greta did not look convinced. “What is so scientific about falling in love and getting married?”

Belinda gave a brusque nod and continued on undeterred. “In a town such as this—filled with railroad men and farmers—women are in short supply. Elsewhere, women bow their knees at night, clutch their hands together…”—here Belinda dramatically clasped her hands as if in prayer—“and plead with the Almighty for husbands.”

Greta paled. “Yes, but what does that have to do with you?”

“I will make it my job to reconcile the one with the other. With the Lord’s help, of course.” Belinda released her hands, triumphant. Surely Greta would see the good in this. And, in time, so would the others in the little town. After all, her goal to civilize the quaint town of Poetry, Texas, was a fine one. Once the women started arriving, the place would begin to blossom, possibly rivaling nearby Terrell. Or maybe—Belinda’s excitement grew as she thought about it—maybe even Dallas. Yes, once proper ladies started arriving, the area would become quite citified.

“You make it sound so…simple.” Her cousin paused to tie an apron around her broad waist, just as she did every morning before Poetic Notions, the town’s mercantile, opened. “But if finding a mate is really as easy as you say, then why, with men surrounding us on every side, do you and I remain unattached?”

Belinda swallowed hard and then chose her words with great care as she reached to straighten several jars on a nearby shelf. “I cannot speak for you, of course.” She turned to grasp her cousin’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. “To be quite honest, I do not understand why some handsome fellow hasn’t marched in here and swept you away to a life of marital bliss. You, of all people, would make the perfect wife and mother.”

“Thank you.” Greta let out a little giggle, and her cheeks turned pink.

Belinda released a sigh as she contemplated her own situation. “But I do believe, after much prayer on the matter, that I can answer the question about myself.” She stood straight and tall, taking full advantage of her height. “I have come to the conclusion that I was born for a greater purpose.”

“Oh?” Greta’s brow wrinkled, and the color seemed to fade from her cheeks.

“Yes. And, most likely, I will never marry. To do so would only interfere with my work, my calling.” Belinda let out an exaggerated sigh for effect.

“N–never marry?” Greta looked stunned. “How can you say such a thing?” A dreamy-eyed expression took over as she continued. “Why, I can hardly wait to be a bride. I’ve been dreaming of my wedding day since childhood. All girls do.” She ran her fingertips along a bolt of delicate lace, eyeing it with a sigh, then looked up at Belinda. “Surely you have longings to marry, to have a family.”

Belinda swallowed hard and hoped her glistening eyes wouldn’t give her away. “I am a strong, independent woman.” She reached for a broom and swept the area near the front door of the shop. “Like most in Texas. My hard work has stiffened my backbone.”

“Yes, but…”

“You’ve watched me, Greta. From my youth, I have labored in the cotton gin alongside Papa and my brothers. I am no stranger to work. I have managed to help Mama with the sewing, cooking, and cleaning, all the while assisting you and Aunt Hilde here at the store.”

“Of course. You work harder than any other girl I know,” Greta agreed as she reached to wipe off the glass case housing the cash register. “No one would argue the point.” Still, she looked doubtful.

“Then don’t you see?” Belinda gave her an imploring look. “I would do well with a business of my own. I would only need a small space to set up shop.”— She glanced around the crowded store, filled with its many shelves.

“But do you really think the local men will actually pay for such a thing?” Greta’s cheeks flushed. “Purchasing brides from all over the country, like picking out pieces of farm equipment from a catalog? Is that…godly?”

Belinda smiled. “Greta, there’s one thing I have discovered in my twenty-seven years. The good Lord most often moves in unique ways. I do not claim to know the vastness of His plans, but I do promise to pray over every client He entrusts to me. I know our heavenly Father will lead me to the perfect match for each one. Besides”—she tucked a loose blond curl behind her ear—“I’ve created a formula of sorts. As I said, it all comes down to science.”

“Coupled with faith.”

“Of course.”

“And how do your parents feel about this?” Greta’s brow wrinkled again, this time in concern. “I can’t imagine that your father is happy with the idea.”

Belinda took a long strand of hair and wound it around her finger as she contemplated her response. She pictured her father—tall and broad-shouldered, his thick mustache bobbing up and down as he scolded her in his rich German accent. How would he respond to this new plan? “He will come around in time,” she said at last.

“Belinda…”

“I will tell him. I promise. And Mama will be very supportive. I know her.” Once I work up the courage to tell her, that is.

“Hmm.” Greta shook her head, as if she didn’t believe such a thing possible. “And your brothers? What do my cousins think of this bold venture of yours?”

Belinda squared her shoulders as she responded. “James is of marrying age—and the twins will be in a few years—so no doubt they will find the idea ingenious. As soon as the women begin to arrive, that is.”

“And just where are you going to find these women?” Greta asked, still not looking convinced.

Belinda glanced out of the window, distracted by a passing wagon. “Oh, everywhere. They place advertisements in all the big papers, you know. New York, Philadelphia, Kansas City, you name it. Why, our town will be filled with women from all over the country!” She turned back to Greta and offered up a confident smile. “Living this close to the railroad will be a great asset. And women are coming to Texas in droves these days. Surely you’ve read about it.”

“Yes, to places like Dallas or Houston. But, Poetry? What would draw them here—besides the promise of marriage, I mean. What do we have to offer besides chaw-chewin’ backwoodsmen and a handful of railroad ruffians over Terrell-way?”

“Greta! How dare you speak so unkindly of our little town!” Belinda’s heart swelled with pride. “Why, Poetry is growing exponentially. Just look around you. We’ve a lovely hotel. And our restaurant boasts the finest food in the state. New shops are going in every day. Why, there’s even talk of a theater. Can you imagine going to see a play or an opera, right here in our hometown?” She clasped her hands together with dramatic flair, as if she were standing before an audience of hundreds. Belinda smiled. “There’s no finer cotton farming to be had in all of Texas—no debating that point. And have you seen Samuel Bromstead’s wheat fields? They’re prettier than a painting.”

Greta stared out the window and shrugged. “I suppose.”

Belinda opted to change the subject, turning her attentions to a spot near the front of the mercantile that would be perfect for her new office. She clapped her hands in glee and then pointed. “Come and help me move those shelves. I would eventually like to bring in a small desk from the back office to put in their place.”

“And then what?”

“Then I will make a sign.” She closed her eyes and tried to picture it: Belinda Bauer, Marriage Broker. “Likely every single male in town will pay me a visit, and before you know it the train station will be filled with women. Think of all the new sisters we will soon have!”

Greta shrugged—and the look on her face wasn’t convincing—but she did agree to help Belinda move the shelf before the store opened for morning business. Together they removed cans of homemade jams and jellies then pushed the empty shelf to a spot against the far wall. Greta looked at it with a sigh before heading to the back room for a dust cloth. When she returned, they dusted the shelves and completely reloaded them. All the way, Belinda chattered about her new plan. She could hardly wait to begin.

Greta continued to shake her head, looking at the now-empty corner of the store. “Mama’s going to have a fit when she sees this.”

“No. Aunt Hilde will love the idea.” Belinda felt sure of it. After all, Aunt Hilde had run Poetic Notions for nearly a dozen years, since Uncle Max’s death. She certainly knew what it meant to be a strong, independent woman.

Greta headed off to the back of the store to organize some lanterns and Belinda continued on with her work. Some time later, she noticed a passel of customers through the front window and realized that eight o’clock must have passed right by. So much for keeping her head on straight. With a skip in her step, Belinda made her way to the front of the store to unlock the door. Once there, she pronounced the mercantile open for business.

Customers swarmed inside, as always, greeting her as they passed by. Belinda couldn’t help but smile as her gaze landed on George Kaufman, the town barber, as he sprinted from his barbershop across the street. His attentions appeared to be quite focused.

So were hers.

Belinda began to size him up as a potential client. Tall. Dark, wavy hair. Rich, brown eyes. Well-groomed. Late twenties. Churchgoer. Businessman. Single.

Perfect.

“Mornin’, Belinda.” He gave her a polite nod then shifted his gaze to the razor straps under the glass at the front counter.

“Morning, George.” She drew close and watched as he made his selections. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m in need of some supplies before I can open my shop this morning. Should’ve come by yesterday afternoon, but business was heavy. Not that I’m complaining.” He flashed a smile so bright that it warmed her heart. Yes, he would surely make a fine client.

“A happy problem, indeed.” She moved to her position behind the counter to offer assistance. “Glad to hear the barbershop is doing well.”

“Thank the Lord for a town filled with men,” he said with a nod.

“Amen to that.” She fought to hide the giggle that attempted to rise.

As the store filled with customers, a steady hum of voices hovered in the air. Greta remained busy in the back of the shop, helping a couple of the local men, but Belinda’s preoccupation with George continued. She observed him from head to toe, paying careful attention to his interactions with others.

Sure, he was a little on the shy side, but a bit of nudging would change that. When he smiled, his dimples lit the room and his brown eyes sparkled with merriment. She just had to work on getting him to smile more often. Would a little girlish chitchat be inappropriate?

“Hmm.” Another glance uncovered a different problem. George’s small-town wardrobe could certainly use some updating, particularly if his wife-to-be hailed from the big city. Perhaps he would take Belinda’s fashion suggestions to heart, if she dared to make them.

“Belinda? Everything all right?”

His words took her by surprise. She looked up from her inspection of his shirt, embarrassed. “Um, yes.”

“Here in body only?” He ran a hand through his thick dark waves and gave her a quizzical look.

“No, sorry.” Belinda’s heart quickened. Was this the right time to tell George about her new business? Had the Lord opened a door? If so, would she step through it?

George paid for his supplies, and she reached over to give him his change. Her hand lingered in his a bit longer than necessary, and he looked up, confused.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” After garnering up the courage, she leaned in close and whispered, “If I were to tell you that the Lord has laid it on my heart to find you a bride, what would you say?”

“I—I…” His cheeks turned redder than the paint on Samuel Bromstead’s barn. “I would ask you to seek Him again for further explanation. I am quite happy in my current state.”

She gave him a woeful pat on the arm, her lower lip curling down in sympathy. “You poor, dear man. You are blinded by loneliness.”

“I am?” His face filled with confusion.

“Indeed. And I am just the one to bring an end to your days of solitude.”

“Days of solitude?” His roaring laughter rang out, causing other customers to turn in curiosity. “Belinda, have you lost your marbles? I’m a barber in a town filled with men. My shop is crowded from sunup till sundown with talkative cotton farmers. And I can’t keep enough shaving mugs for the railroad men who venture over from Terrell. Not to mention the fellas from the saloon. Why, I can’t get a minute to myself. Would you have me add insult to injury by factoring a wife into the mix?

Belinda let go of George’s hand right away, her pride instantly wounded. She stared into his accusing brown eyes, unable to believe his reaction to her gesture of kindness. Could he not see the goodness of her heart? And had he really rejected her help…so quickly?

With a lump rising to her throat, she wrapped the razor straps in plain brown paper and wound a string around the outside. Then, with a huff, she turned to wait on another customer, ready to put George Kaufman and his quick-fired comments out of her mind altogether.

***

George regretted the words the moment he spoke them. As he stared into Belinda’s wide eyes, now filled with pain, he wished he could withdraw his statement.

On the other hand…

What could have prompted her to say such a thing? Sure, Belinda Bauer was outspoken. Everyone in town knew it. Her temperament matched her strong, solid build. And when those blue eyes got to blazing…watch out! But to spout such ridiculous nonsense? What had he done to deserve such candor? Did he really come across as lonely?

Was he lonely?

These and a thousand other things George contemplated as he made his way back across the busy street. He entered the barber shop, the package of razor straps in hand, and set his mind on one thing—his work.

A wife would just have to wait.

 

Like what you read? Purchase Mismatched in Texas. 

A Week of Firsts: Hurricane

Welcome to Day One of “A Weeks of Firsts,” where I’ll be sharing the first chapter(s) from several of my books. I thought this would be a fun way to introduce readers to my work and to share some of my older books, as well as newer ones.

Today I’m happy to share the opening of Hurricane, one of my all-time favorite stories. Why do I love it so much? Because I’ve been fascinated with the 1900 Galveston storm for as long as I can remember. It remains the nation’s most catastrophic natural disaster. The book is dedicated to those who gave their lives to save others.

 

CHAPTER ONE

Tuesday, September 4th, 1900, 11:45 a.m. Aboard the GH&H Railroad

I am going home.

Home—a place I scarcely know, and yet know as well as my own name. A place of sweltering heat and gritty, salt-stung eyes. A garden of wispy oleanders and steep green palms dancing in soft evening breezes. A sandy retreat for sundials and sand dollars, angel wings and star fish. A hallowed habitat for speckled trout and flounder, red snapper and bluefish. A sanctuary for pesky mosquitoes and wide-eyed immigrants, both an unwelcome source of irritation to the locals. A pavilion where sweethearts, young and old, dance at open-air concerts. A leisurely place where rickety wooden piers tip-toe out onto the reaches of the warm, murky waters of the Gulf of Mexico… brown, rolling waters that stretch for miles against the backdrop of a soft, powder blue sky.

I am going home—to Galveston, the island of my youth. It draws me back as the tide pulls the restless waves to the shoreline, and yet I resist just as they do when they have had enough and wish to be released to the sea once again. Galveston Island.  Every corner of my mind is clouded with memories, though I push them away with a vengeance. I don’t want to remember.  My conscience is seared with the guilt of trying to forget.

Six years in New York have put the past behind me, and yet it lies ever before me.   I left a boy, a dreamer. I return a man, a realist. Perhaps there is more of my father in me than I’m ready to admit.

“Hey, Mister!  Whatcha writin?”

Brent Murphy looked up from his tablet into the sharp olive green eyes of the little boy sitting across from him on the train. “I, uh…” Brent tried valiantly to collect his thoughts, leaving his scribblings behind him. “Not much, really.” What was he writing, after all—his wishes, his fears?  He couldn’t possibly share those things with a child, a perfect stranger.

“You a writer, Mister?” They little boy’s eyes were playful, inquisitive. They danced in the direction of his tablet, as if wanting to snatch it up and read it.

Brent pulled it a little closer to himself. “Well, yes,” he answered. “Sort of, anyway…” After all these years, it was still a difficult question to answer.

“Gee willikins!  Do you write books?” The boy’s sparkling green eyes widened with excitement. Brent discovered himself in those eyes – a young man enthralled with the world of a writer.

“No, not books. I’m a reporter, a journalist.” As he laid the tablet down on his knees, Brent couldn’t help but notice the wrinkles in his trousers. Days of travel had left him looking a little less like a reporter and a little more like a vagabond.

“Man, oh man!” The little boy sat up straight and looked him squarely in the eye.

“Lucas, son, sit still and don’t bother the nice gentleman,” the boy’s mother, a woman with stern brown eyes, scolded.

“Oh, he’s no bother,” Brent said. “No bother at all.”

“Do you live in Galveston?” Lucas asked, unable to hold himself still for more than a moment.

“Yes, well—I used to.”

“I’m gonna visit my Grandpa Frankie.”

“Joseph Franks,” his mother explained. “He’s a deputy sheriff on the island. Do you know him?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t,” Brent said. “But I’ve been away for awhile. Six years.” Six wonderful, terrible years.

Lucas turned his attention to something outside the window, and Brent returned to his ponderings. The flatlands of Southeast Texas rolled by—stark and dry. A drought had left the tall grasses as brown as autumn. The warm air wafted through the open window. Brent pulled at his collar, deep in thought. The gentle clacking of the train against the tracks lulled Brent back into a hypnotic state. He began to jot words down, almost uncontrollably:

We pulled out of Houston half an hour ago, headed south on the GH&H line—a railroad I know well.  During the Civil War, the Galveston, Houston &Henderson crossed this very spot with Confederate troops and munitions; their goal—to reach the Island to break a Union blockade. My mission pales in comparison.

Houston has grown to an almost unrecognizable level. She will surpass Galveston’s greatness if Islanders are not careful. Perched on the brink of industrial eminence, the city that brought General Sam Houston fame is now overwhelmed with the scent of oil, industry and new money. Houses are springing up all around the place—wood framed with indoor plumbing and electric lights—all the modern conveniences. It is difficult to believe Texas won her freedom in this once-barren place. Fifty years have brought a lifetime of change. Time changes everything—and nothing—all at the same time.

Within another hour we’ll cross the trestle over the Galveston Bay. From there I will be within moments of home.

Home.

Galveston, to my understanding, is much the same as when I left—bustling with streetcars and tourists, though surely not many remain this late into the season.  What draws them back?  The Island, in its own mysterious way, seems to lull them, year after year. I will soon join them. When I get home…

Here Brent paused, looking up from his tablet to reflect. What should he write?  How could he even begin to predict the future when he still had so much trouble dealing with the past?

***

  Tuesday, September 4th, 12:30 p.m. The Murphy Villa

“Douglas, dear, do you really have to go?” Gillian Murphy forced the saddest face she could muster. Years of experience had turned her into a better than average actress. She knew how to play a role when the script called for it.

“Gillian, we’ve already discussed this.” Her husband’s stern face left nothing to the imagination.

“But we’ve got such a grand party coming up this weekend, and there’s so much work to be done. I’m simply lost without you.” She turned to check her appearance in the mirror as she tucked a loose hair behind one ear. He didn’t answer for a moment, and fear gripped her. She did depend on him, perhaps more than she wanted to admit. She turned to give him another pout.

“You’ve got Pearl,” her husband mumbled as he straightened his jacket. “And I’ve got to work.”

“Work, work—that’s all you ever do.” Gillian pouted. How could he argue the point?  In their thirty years of marriage, the couple had rarely taken so much as a well-deserved vacation. Douglas was driven to succeed. His years at GH&H railroad had proven that. Forty-six miles of track from Galveston to Houston was all that lay between Gillian Murphy and her husband.

“I don’t see you complaining about the home we’re living in, or those expensive clothes you’re wearing.” He pulled a gold watch from his pocket and checked the time.

It was hardly fair to bring that up. “Yes, but…”

“Just how do you think we’re going to pay for this little shin-dig anyway?” Douglas asked as he ran a comb through his jet-black hair. He used his fingertips to straighten the sharp edges of his carefully manicured moustache then stared at his reflection carefully in the hall mirror. “You’re liable to bankrupt us with this party of yours.”

Gillian’s heart gave a quick flutter. Surely he jested. She gauged his expression for confirmation. A bit of a twinkle in his dark gray eyes let her know that he was not completely serious.

“Pish-Posh!” she responded with a snicker. “You know perfectly well we’re not hurting for money. Now don’t scare me by saying things like that. It’s completely unfair of you, Douglas.”

Her husband reached over and gave her a light peck on the nose. “For a middle-aged woman, you certainly still act like a silly schoolgirl.”

“I’m not middle-aged,” Gillian said defiantly. “I’m barely forty-six.”

He brushed some lint from his jacket, then turned to face her. “Forty-eight.”

“Forty-seven!” she said stubbornly. She glanced in the mirror at her reflection once again. Her clear, white skin barely carried a hint of sun, let alone a wrinkle. She had swept her soft brown hair up off her neck with an ivory comb, a Christmas gift from Douglas. There were a few streaks of gray in amongst her dark locks, she noticed as she peered a little closer – but not enough to rank her middle-aged. Her hazel eyes were more blue than green. There was still plenty of youthful vitality in them, though the finely tuned wrinkles that had crept up alongside them argued the point.

“Gillian, dear. You were twenty-two when our son was born—were you not?  He’s twenty-six now. That would make you…”

Gillian turned, feeling her heart begin to swell. Why did he have to bring up their son now, just when things were going so well?

“Twenty-six years of misery with the laziest son a man ever had,” Douglas said, his face turning red. “If only he had been born with half the work ethic I have, we might be singing a completely different song today. Of course, there’s good reason why he isn’t much like me, isn’t there dear…?”

Gillian’s heart raced. This was not way to say goodbye. “Darling, let’s don’t do this…”

“I’m just saying that things might have been completely different if you hadn’t…”

Gillian had to turn this around. She had to. “Alright, I’ll admit it. I’m forty-eight years old,” she said. “Now, can we change the subject?”

“Maybe,” Douglas said with a hint of a smile, “if you’re ready to admit you still act like a giddy school-girl when it comes to hosting those ridiculous parties.”

Her thoughts drifted back to the subject at hand. The party. “Oh, but this is going to be the gala of the century!  Everyone will simply be mad with envy.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Douglas said. “I suppose we’ll have to cancel.”

His thick eyebrows furrowed, and her heart fell. But only for a moment. Gillian looked into his eyes.  “Oh, you’re teasing. I knew you were.”

“Teasing or not, there’s work to be done, and I’ve never been one to slack off.”

No, he certainly wasn’t. And now that rumors of oil ran up and down the coast, his zeal for the railroad played second fiddle to the possibility of making a strike in the near future. That meant she now came in third, in the grand scheme of things.

“I’ll be back on Saturday afternoon.” He turned toward the door.

Gillian pouted, half-angry, half-disappointed. “Miss me?”

“Chin up!” Douglas turned to leave. “I’ll be back soon.”

The door slammed behind him, echoing the hollow emptiness of the large home, fashioned in the new Victorian style. Gillian dropped into a chair, deep in thought. Her husband was a strong man, stronger in so many ways than she would ever be. It was a man’s world, or so he told her all the time.

“That may very well be.” She shook her head. “But when it comes to throwing parties, it’s a woman’s world.” She grinned as she stood, and readied herself for the day ahead. There was much work to be done, and she would never let it be said that Gillian Murphy wasn’t up to the task.

***

 Tuesday, September 4th, 2:35 p.m. St. Mary’s Orphan’s Asylum

Sister Henrietta Mullins reached up with the back of her hand to wipe the perspiration from her brow. Her habit, dark and cumbersome, clung to her petite frame like a second skin, choking the very life out of her. Of course, she had no one to blame but herself. She had chosen this life; only she could take the credit or the blame.

Henrietta’s commitment to the Sisters of Charity had taken her far from home in rural Virginia, far from those she loved. And yet it was clear she felt God’s call on her life. She had known it from the time she was a young girl, weeping at altar’s edge.

At the tender age of twenty-one Henrietta had taken her vows with no hesitation. And when her superiors had assigned her to work at the beloved St. Mary’s Orphans Asylum in Galveston just one year later, she had gone willingly. What a difference a few months could make. They had changed everything. Now she stood as a testament to her faith, though she felt at any moment she might cave under the pressure.

The heat didn’t help things, either. Even with the breeze off of the gulf, she still felt as though she might suffocate. “I’m only in Texas,” she wrote home, “but feel like I’m halfway to Hades already.”

Henrietta longed for the cool autumns of Virginia, her home. There was nothing as beautiful as the turning of the leaves, their reds and gold’s melting together into dizzying shades of orange.  There, the cool, crisp fall breezes whipped through the trees, teasing the leaves and eventually coaxing them down from unwilling limbs. All of her life she had romped and played in the woods of Virginia. Among those trees she had first felt the tug that would eventually bring her to Galveston Island.

“It’s not so bad,” she said, looking about. The two dormitories of St. Mary’s Orphan’s Asylum lay on the outskirts of town, well out of reach of the Yellow Fever epidemic that had swept the island a short time ago. The Infirmary was nearby. Henrietta had made it her mission to keep the children in good health—spiritually and physically. Many of them had lost parents in the epidemic. Others had been abandoned at birth by parents who did not have the necessary means to care for them.

She had no right to complain about her life. After all, she had made her own choices. Her biggest struggle, at least at the moment, was this bulky habit and its constricting white collar.

“Look on the bright side,” she whispered to herself. “At least I don’t have to wear a corset.” A smile made its way up her cheeks. Small waistlines had become ridiculously painful over the past few years with those tightly laced, strictly constructed corsets in the picture. Though they posed countless health risks, any woman who considered herself fashionable wore one to embellish her female physique. A corset provided the coveted curves, naturally, but it also constricted the abdomen so that women could barely eat or sit down comfortably. How wonderful to be rid of that agony!

“I’ll take the good with the bad.” Henrietta said, suddenly determined. “Learning will come with time and much patience.” Heat or no heat, she must learn to endure. Her calling required it.

Had she known how difficult everything would turn out to be, she might have requested a different calling.

 Like what you’ve read? Purchase Hurricane here.

The Story Behind the Story: Hurricane

Cooking up Some Tasty Offerings

 

Janice Thompson, Inspirational Author: March 2015 Newsletter






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A big Texas “Howdy!” from inspirational author, Janice Thompson. Are you wondering about the photo to the left? It was taken at the ACFW conference, where I dressed up as Aunt Rosa (from the Weddings by Bella series) to celebrate the release of my book, That’s Amore. What do you think of my chef’s attire? Fun, right? And, did you notice the strong Italian theme? The cookies in the pizza box are designed to look like mini pizzas! Most of my readers know that I’m not just a writer; I also run a bakery business on the side. I enjoy offering sweet treats, whether it’s in the form of a book, a cookie or a cake! Speaking of which, I’m so excited to be cooking up some new stories for you to enjoy! So, settle back, grab one of my latest novels and let’s spend some sweet time together.

 

 






















 

MY LATEST E-BOOK: MISMATCHED IN TEXAS ($2.99)

In the quaint community of Poetry, Texas, Belinda Bauer spies an opportunity. The tiny town is filled with loggers and railroad men in need of wives, so she sets herself up as a marriage broker. At her invitation, potential brides begin to arrive in Poetry. There’s only one problem: Belinda doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing and all the brides marry the wrong men! One client is particularly unhappy. George Kaufman, the local barber, has lost more than one prospective wife to Belinda’s fumbled attempts. For some reason, she just can’t seem to find George’s “perfect match,” though it’s not for lack of trying. Is there a poetic ending in store for George— and for Belinda, herself? (PREVIOUSLY SOLD AS LOVE FINDS YOU IN POETRY TEXAS)
























 

BELLA’S BACK! ENJOY THAT’S AMORE, BOOK FOUR IN THE WEDDINGS BY BELLA SERIES. ($4.99)

Bella Neeley is a busy woman these days. Not only is she juggling two young kids, her hunky husband, and her always-entertaining family–she has another baby on the way. To top it off, she and D.J. are busy opening a second Club Wed location, this time a historic building in beautiful Splendora, Texas. When D.J. suggests they start off the new Club Wed facility with a bang–by getting married again–Bella isn’t sure if she can handle planning another wedding. Still, who could say no to such a sweet man? But nothing’s simple in relationships or building restoration! When everything goes wrong, Bella enlists the help of the fabulous Splendora sisters. It’s Twila, Bonnie Sue and Jolene to the rescue!

























 

COMING SOON: EVERY BRIDE NEEDS A GROOM (BOOK ONE IN THE BRIDES WITH STYLE SERIES, $3.99)

Small-town girl Katie Fisher is planning her wedding. Sure, her boyfriend hasn’t managed to pop the question just yet, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t enter a contest in Texas Bride magazine to win the dress of her dreams, right? But when her boyfriend breaks up with her and takes a job in another town–the very same day Katie wins her dream dress–her world is turned upside down. Should she claim her prize? And will the hunky former pro-basketball player who runs the swanky Dallas bridal shop–yeah, you read that right–catch on to her humiliation if she does? This romance sure to delight, with plenty of fish-out-of-water moments, a hilarious supporting cast, and more of the wedding biz world my readers adore.

 





























This month’s bargain: Don’t Rock the Boat (Book Six in the Bridal Mayhem Mystery Series). Now available on kindle for only 99 cents!

Annie Peterson’s supposed to be on vacation. . .not in wedding planning mode and certainly not in mystery solving mode. But when she meets a bride-to-be aboard the Navigator of the Seas cruise liner, Annie can’t help herself. She’s ready, willing and able to help with plans for the big day. And when the bride goes missing just hours before the ceremony, it’s Annie to the rescue! Who’s responsible for spiriting away the elusive bride? The maid of honor? The emotional mother of the bride? An over-the-top best man? The groom-to-be? A total stranger? Someone’s done the deed and it’s up to Annie to locate the MIA bride before the ship returns to port. Surely, with the Lord’s help, she can solve this mystery. Join Annie on this high seas adventure where everyone on-board is a suspect and no good deed goes unpunished.







































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Copyright 2015, Janice Thompson, Christian Author All rights reserved.

Contact Janice at:

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Hot Off the Press

Howdy, friends!

I just wanted to pop in long enough to bring you up to speed on my new books. Take a look at the list below. There’s a lot stirring right now and you don’t want to miss a thing!

HOT OFF THE KINDLE E-PRESS:  Mismatched in Texas

In the quaint community of Poetry, Texas, Belinda Bauer spies an opportunity. The tiny town is filled with loggers and railroad men in need of wives, so she sets herself up as a marriage broker. At her invitation, potential brides begin to arrive in Poetry. There’s only one problem: Belinda doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing and all the brides marry the wrong men!

One client is particularly unhappy. George Kaufman, the local barber, has lost more than one prospective wife to Belinda’s fumbled attempts. For some reason, she just can’t seem to find George’s “perfect match,” though it’s not for lack of trying. Is there a poetic ending in store for George— and for Belinda, herself? (NOTE: This book was formerly sold as Love Finds You in Poetry, Texas.)

__________________________________________________________________

NEW FROM REVELL PUBLISHING:   That’s Amore

BOOK FOUR IN THE “WEDDINGS BY BELLA” SERIES

Bella’s back–in a big way!

Bella Neeley is a busy woman these days. Not only is she juggling two young kids, her hunky husband, and her always-entertaining family–she has another baby on the way. To top it off, she and D.J. are busy opening a second Club Wed location, this time a historic building in beautiful Splendora, Texas. When D.J. suggests they start off the new Club Wed facility with a bang–by getting married again–Bella isn’t sure if she can handle planning another wedding. Still, who could say no to such a sweet man? But nothing’s simple in relationships or building restoration! When Splendora’s mayor shows up to contest Bella’s facility, she’s faced with the prospect that her long-awaited expansion of Club Wed may be destined to fail before it even gets off the ground. Determined to find out why the mayor seems to have a vendetta against her and D.J., Bella will have to enlist the help of the fabulous Splendora sisters. Whew! What’s a girl got to do to get a break around here?


__________________________________________________________________

 COMING IN APRIL, 2015:  Every Bride Needs a Groom

Small-town girl Katie Fisher is planning her wedding. Sure, her boyfriend hasn’t managed to pop the question just yet, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t enter a contest in Texas Bride magazine to win the dress of her dreams, right? But when her boyfriend breaks up with her and takes a job in another town–the very same day Katie wins her dream dress–her world is turned upside down. Should she claim her prize? And will the hunky former pro-basketball player who runs the swanky Dallas bridal shop–yeah, you read that right–catch on to her humiliation if she does?

 

__________________________________________________________________

 COMING IN MAY, 2015:  Never a Bridesmaid

Can one bridesmaid undo the disasters caused by a poorly chosen maid of honor and save her sister’s wedding from disaster? 

Mari’s older sister Crystal is getting married, and Mari is one of her bridesmaids – actually, the last in a lineup of five bridesmaids, but that doesn’t really bother her. Much. But Sienna Jameson as the maid of honor? Really? She might be Crystal’s best friend, but she’s ditzy and undependable on her best days. When the best man turns out to be hunky Derrick Richardson, the right fielder for the Houston Astros and one of Houston’s most eligible bachelors, Sienna abandons her duties as maid of honor to chase Derrick, and it’s up to Mari to make sure Crystal’s wedding day goes off without a hitch. While Mari is wrapped up in dress fittings, bridal showers, and bachelorette nights, Derrick has taken notice of her devotion to her sister and her determination to make the wedding perfect. But between dodging Sienna’s advances and watching Mari running around like a madwoman, Derrick is left to steal moments whenever he can to get to know this beautiful bridesmaid. When the maid of honor shows up to the ceremony late and more done up than the bride herself, Mari fears her attempts to make her sister’s wedding perfect have all been for naught. Will the bride be up-staged by the maid of honor? Will the fifth-in-line bridesmaid ever be recognized for all the work she’s done? And will Mari finally have a moment to revel in the magic of a wedding and dance in the strong arms of a man?

 

 

Introducing a New Publisher!

Need some help with your unpublished manuscripts?

Cynthia Hickey, hybrid, and Amazon best-selling author, and her small ebook line, may be the ones who can help you.

Today’s publishing world is changing faster than some writers can keep up. Not only must you have a well-written book, but you must be prolific. Where once, you needed a large publisher to see your book in print, with small royalties and a long time to wait before seeing the fruit of your labor, today that is no longer the case. A book can be in ebook form and in print via print-on-demand within a matter of weeks and royalties paid to the author are much higher than in the traditional route. It’s an exciting time to be a writer!

Today’s authors wear many hats; writer, publisher, marketer, cover designer, etc. They must be active on social media. Everywhere they turn, they’re bombarded with what’s new, what’s old, what doesn’t work anymore and what’s the new thing to guarantee sales.

We’re told we must have a book published every three months in order to stay in the reader’s sights. While this is true, it is often overwhelming to those who take longer to complete a manuscript than others.

Are you tired of writing to fit a mold? Have you received the rights back on previously traditionally published works? Do you have a dusty manuscript that can’t find a home? Then Take Me Away Books or Forget Me Not Romances  may be the place for you.

Forget Me Not

The Forget Me Not Romances is a line of sweet, clean and/or inspirational novels that allow the reader to get lost in a good romance. This line is open to romance genres of historical, western, contemporary, suspense, and mystery. Don’t worry. If you contact us about one line, and we feel you’ll fit better with the other one, we’ll switch you over if that’s what you prefer.

A lot of authors, while writing the book of their heart, find that their baby doesn’t fit into a particular niche. That’s no reason to stick the story on a shelf or in a drawer. Take Me Away Books and Forget Me Not Romances are small presses dedicated to helping authors who want to publish their book in ebook form. We’re looking for romantic suspense, mystery, memoirs, fantasy, science fiction, and everything in between. You wrote a story about a time-traveling fairy? Okay. If it’s a well-written story about a time-traveling fairy, we’ll take it.

Take Me Away

Take Me Away Books is open to all genres, except for erotica and children’s books, and books posted there will have a rating, similar to a movie rating. Forget Me Not Romances, devoted to clean and sweet books, won’t need a rating because of their wholesomeness. Both lines will run in the same manner and the information can be found here. If you have more questions, please email me at cynthiahickey (at) outlook.com. We are open to submissions for both lines. Come find a home for your baby. If you have a submission, please send it to cynthiahickey (at) outlook.com with SUBMISSION in the subject line.

In order to give each of our authors the attention they deserve, Take Me Away Books and Forget Me Not Romances will be very selective in who they accept. We want to take pride in the services we offer and in the finished product. Writing for a small press, where the authors not only actively promote their book, but the entire line, helps everyone reach a wider market.

This is an exciting venture for us as we enter into the world of being a publisher. There are a lot of books available to help a person get their book in ebook form, but all of these take time. Often, a writer finds that the details take up time that they would rather spend writing. With more and more books showing up on ebook distributing sites, it often takes a team to reach as many people as possible. We want to help you get started.

Celebrating The Small Press

Why publish with a small press? Why go ebook? Why go indie when you want to be traditional? Why not start indie and strive for being a hybrid? The primary reason for using a small press is to bypass the mis-conceived notion of what self-published is and have the backing of a publisher’s name. This also helps you build a readership and hone your craft in order to entice a traditional publisher. Don’t be surprised though if you decide to stay with a small press. The higher royalties might be worth it to you. If you’re a traditionally published author looking to fill in between contracts or list your back lists, ebooks are a great way to pull in readers to your traditionally published books and visa versa.

WHAT WE ARE LOOKING FOR:

Fiction or non-fiction that is well-written and will appeal to readers. Genres: romance, romantic suspense, mystery, historical romance, science fiction, fantasy, New Adult, Young Adult, or any combination thereof. We’re looking for author’s willing to work as a team to market their books in an ever-growing world.

WHAT WE ARE NOT LOOKING FOR:

Erotica or Children’s books. Authors who want to sit back, do nothing, and see what happens. This doesn’t work in any type of business. Ever hear the saying “It takes a village to raise a child”? Well, it takes a team to build a book.

We want to be a part of that team.

100 Tips for Maintaining a Killer Platform

Happy Monday, y’all!

Many would argue that novelists don’t need a platform, but I’m not convinced that’s true. Whether you write fiction or non-fiction, you can benefit from having a solid platform and a unique brand.

With that in mind, take a look at the following list titled 100 Tips for Maintaining a Killer Platform then spend some time thinking about how you can apply these tips to your work in progress.

 

Think like an entrepreneur.
Work hard to build your platform, acquiring a core audience. (Get your audience before your book’s release.)
Create a brand and stick with it.
Join professional organizations.
Educate yourself.
Build momentum by involving your readers.
Ask your readers what they want, then give it to them.
Give your readers free stuff.
Speak to other writers.
Offer real discounts.
Continue to offer fresh/compelling ideas to editors.
Hustle, hustle, hustle! (Don’t procrastinate.)
Stay on a continual learning curve.
Find your niche.
Communicate with your fans. Let them know how grateful you are for their support.
Discover your personal strengths and use them to your advantage.
Create new content on your website so it stays up in the Google rankings.
Conduct focus groups.
Volunteer at writing conferences.
Engage people who have different opinions.
Create a public “wave” by running an interview on several blogs at once.
Hold seasonal contests.
Offer webinars.
Join online communities and forums.
If you’re shy, work on breaking out of that shell.
Speak at local libraries.
Write a series. (Fans love authors to give them a series of books. They will fall in love with your characters, for sure.)
Offer online courses.
Send out surveys.
Know what you’re going to say…and say it.
Offer products related to your brand.
Speak to kids at your local public school(s).
Learn how to use Facebook and other social media outlets.
Give 100%, and then give some more.
Comment on blogs in your niche.
Give organizations discounts to buy your book in bulk.
Speak on topics relevant to your book(s).
Write down your marketing plan for each new book.
Slant your speaking topics and articles to your specific audience.
Set quarterly goals.
Be a guest speaker at a local college.
Stay in touch with other writers.
Approach local radio stations for interviews.
Engage people.
Ask a multi-published author to mentor you.
Make sure your editors are aware of your flexibility.
Don’t get discouraged.
Hire a publicist.
Work on that next book, even if you haven’t sold it.
Have bookmarks made promoting your book.
Support other authors.
Think outside the box.
Endorse books (it helps get your name out there).
Enjoy the process!
 Seek high-end endorsements for your book.
Include testimonials from your readers (on blogs, bookmarks, interviews, press releases, etc.).
Interview “famous” people on your blog.
Remember the 70/30 plan. If you have product (a book) to sell, spend at least 70% of your article/piece giving away info, then 30% selling product.
When you are interviewed on blogs or websites, put a link back to your site. (This ups your Google rankings.)
Create a tribe (a close-knit group of your best supporters).
Do “top ten” lists on your blog.
Review books.
Add your tagline to your email signature (along with the title of your most recent book).
Thank reviewers for reviewing your book (leave comments on their blog, thanking them).
Even if you’re multi-published, attend conferences to connect with other writers and to “grow” yourself as a writer.
Set up a shopping cart on your website.
Offer “deals” (three books for $25 instead of one for $10).
Offer pre-buy specials.
Create a mailing list.
Read marketing blogs.
Join Amazon Connect (to “connect” with your readers there).
Thank online bookstore owners for carrying your book.
Visit your local bookstore and offer to sign copies of your book. While you’re at it, take some cookies to the manager and his staff.
Apply to teach at conferences.
Become an online bookstore affiliate.
Promote through associations (either online or in person).
Learn how to write a great press release.
Don’t get caught up in singing your own praises.
Market to a book-buying audience.
Identify your target audience and spend time with them.
Market locally, then state-wide, then nationally.
Become “famous” in your area/region.
Offer people meat and potatoes, not milk and toast. (Make sure your articles and books are filled with actual/helpful info.)
Be consistent. (My former pastor used to say, “We want to be a people who finish well.”)
Keep clips of all your magazine articles and reviews.
Keep your press kit handy.
Give out business cards to new acquaintances.
Always follow up.
Build a reader’s list. Offer a “book-club” option on your site, giving “members” discounted prices if they receive your books automatically.
Enter your books in contests.
Create a great elevator pitch about your book so you won’t wear people out with a long explanation.
Speak before signing books. (I always sell far more books when I have an opportunity to speak first.)
Do your best to get “big” reviews. (Publisher’s Weekly, Library Association, Booklist, etc.)
Be creative when it comes to “where” you sell your books. If you’ve written for children, why not sell at homeschool fairs? If your book has a state angle, why not sell at your state’s library events?
Stay on top of industry changes.
Get your book in libraries. (Ask your friends/associates to request it.)
Don’t throw good money after bad. If something doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.
Don’t be too proud to write “small” (and often “free”) pieces.
Remember, you have a life outside of writing.

100. Pray.

There you have it, authors. . .one hundred great ways to keep your platform fresh and alive. I will leave you with the words of my good friend, multi-published romance author, Gail Gaymer Martin, who said: “Honing your craft continues whether you’ve written one or fifty novels. The better your story the more readers remember your novels and buy the next release. Learning never ends for novelists.” – Gail Gaymer Martin, author of Writing The Christian Romance from Writers Digest.

 

Meet Christian Author, Carol Moncado

Friends, I’m so excited to introduce you to my good friend and fellow writer, Carol Moncado. I’ve known Carol for a few years and can always count on her for moral support, whether it’s a pat on the back or a quick edit of a book. She’s a true friend. 

Carol has a new book out today titled Finding Mr. Write. I just downloaded my copy and hope you will do the same.

Where did the inspiration for Finding Mr. Write come from?

The inspiration came from a conversation I had with Casey Herringshaw in the comments on Seekerville one day in mid-2011. We were planning for our first ACFW conference and debated whether or not we should stalk Julie Lessman while there. It turns out we didn’t need to, but the idea had taken root. The original concept had a much more Lucy-Ethel tone to it, but I love the way it turned out.

So why Mya Elizabeth Linscott? Mya… well, the reason is implied in the book so I won’t spoil it here. I don’t remember the inspiration for Elizabeth, but likely just looking for something with an “E” to make it MEL. Linscott comes from my favorite Mary Connealy hero, Tom Linscott in Sharpshooter in Petticoats.

Where did the inspiration for Dorrie come from? What about the skin cancer on Dorrie’s nose?

Dorrie embodies pretty much every author I know, myself included. The insecurities. The fears. The rejection. But with all of that comes friendships that transcend writing. Camaraderie. Growth. And I do know of at least one couple that met at a conference and married later. Her journey mirrors mine in many ways [though not the contest final/win - or the random conference wedding ;)]. 

As for the skin cancer… as I was working on a round of edits for this book, I was diagnosed with exactly what she was. Her experience there also very much mirrors my own – from the nickel-sized crater to the second surgery and the lasering. And yes – my eyelids were numb at one point ;).

What book(s) is(are) coming out next? What am I working on now?

This is the beginning of my “grand opening” as an author! Six books are releasing this year and I’m working to finish them up right now.

* Finally Mr. Write: CANDID Romance book 2; November 24, 2014

* Falling for Mr. Write: CANDID Romance book 3; December 2014

*Good Enough for a Princess: The Montevaro Monarchy book 1; November 17, 2014

*Along Came a Prince: The Montevaro Monarchy book 2; December 2014

*More Than a Princess: The Montevaro Monarchy book 3; December 2014

Spring 2014 will see the release of the next series – The Brides of Bellas Montagnes. When I have the time, I’m working on book 3 in that series, Prince from her Past. The first two are mostly done – Hand-me-down Princess and Queen of His Heart [working title].

Where exactly is Serenity Landing?

Serenity Landing is a fictionalized version of Republic, Missouri – about 12 miles southwest of Springfield. I’ve lived in this area for over 20 years now and wouldn’t trade it for anything! Look for a Serenity Landing website, coming soon! Most [all?] of the books I have planned are connected to this town in one way or another, so you’ll learn a lot more about it as they go on :).

Why indie publish your books? Why now? How does that process work?

Why indie? Because I’ve been doing this for a long time and most of my books are just a bit too outside “the box” for traditional publishers to take a chance on. I completely get that. Plus the number of fiction slots available each year with a traditional publisher has shrunk several times through the closure of fiction lines in the last couple of years.

Why now? I have 13 manuscripts under my belt, many of which were a polish or two away from being ready. Plus, I really, truly, believed God gave me the go-ahead when I prayed about it.

How does it work? Write a book. Rewrite the book. Edit. Edit. Edit. Critique partners. Edit. Edit. Proofreaders. Design a cover. Format the ebook. Format the paperback. Format the paperback cover. Submit the ebook to Kindle Direct Publishing. Submit the paperback files to CreateSpace and wait for a proof copy. Pray the proof copy arrives in time to sync the paperback and ebooks by the release date [that didn’t happen for Finding Mr. Write and is unlikely to for Good Enough for a Princess, but they’re both coming]. Anything but the writing [and some of the editing] can be hired out – either in exchange for money [paying an editor or cover designer or formatter, for instance] or as a barter [like with critique partners]. A long, daunting – but rewarding – process!

What is your favorite time of day to write?

If I didn’t have four young[ish] kids at home, it would probably 9-10pm to 1-2am. That’s when I write the best and am the most creative – when I’m not up at 6 in the morning to get a 13yo to jazz band practice. :p That tends to zap any late-night creativity. Instead, I get most of it done on the days I don’t work [most MWF off] or when I hole up in the recliner in the office of my sister’s house for 10-12 hours a day on weekends.

Top five favorite books of all time.

To quote one of my favorite people, Ruth Logan Herne: Oh! My! Stars! How to choose just five???? Let’s see:

1. Short-Straw Bride by Karen Witemeyer

2. Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis

3. Anything by Becky Wade [but especially Meant to be Mine. Or My Stubborn Heart.]

4. Any of Janice Thompson’s rom coms – starting with the Weddings by Bella series

5. Anything by Mary Connealy

Thanks so much for visiting, Carol! I’m tickled to have your new book, Finding Mr. Write, in hand and can’t wait to read the others.

Folks, why not check out Carol’s great book, Finding Mr. Write? It’s listed at amazon at a great price and will be a terrific addition to your e-library. You can thank me later for the recommendation. For now, what’s keeping you? Head on over to amazon and get your copy today.