Marta Perry's Blog, page 10
April 23, 2013
New Amish Fiction to Enjoy!
I'm so pleased to introduce you to my talented writing friend, Kathy. Kathleen Fuller is the author of over twenty-five novels. Her latest book, Letters to Katie, is the third book in the Middlefield Family series, and releases May 7, 2013. Kathleen lives in Geneva, OH with her husband and three children. For more information about her books, visit www.kathleenfuller.comI'm sure you'll enjoy her latest book, and if you'd like to download the first three chapters of Letters toKatie, click http://nelsonfree.com/LetterstoKatie
Meanwhile, here's an excerpt just to whet your appetite!
Letters to Katie
Chapter 1
“Oh, Katherine. This is so schee.”
Katherine Yoder smiled at her best friend, Mary Beth. She’d spent hours working on the baby quilt, making sure the tiny stitches were as perfect as possible for Mary Beth’s new baby. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Of course I do.” Mary Beth touched the soft flannel quilt, running her fingers over the pale yellow, blue, and peach blocks. Each block had a ragged edge, a new pattern she hadn’t attempted before. The simple style was well suited for a baby, and Mary Beth’s was due within a few weeks.
“I love it.” Mary Beth folded the quilt and placed it on her knees, her expanded belly barely allowing the space. “Danki for such a beautiful gift. Although I don’t see how you have the time, working so many hours at the restaurant.”
All I have is time, Katherine thought. She pushed the self-pity aside and managed a smile. She didn’t want to ruin the moment between them with jealousy. Unlike Mary Beth Shetler, Katherine didn’t have a husband—and soon a child—to take care of. Outside of working at Mary Yoder’s and helping her parents at home, her only other pursuits were her sewing and needlework. She was always busy, yet longed for something different. Something more.
Apparently God had other plans.
Mary Beth managed to rise from the chair in her tiny kitchen. Her husband Chris had built the four-room home behind Mary Beth’s parents’ property. The dwelling resembled a dawdi haus, and likely would be used as such once the rest of Mary Beth’s siblings—Johnny, Caleb, Micah, and Eli—married and left home. But for now, the tidy, cozy home was enough.
And more than Katherine had.
Mary Beth placed the quilt on the table. “I’m glad you came over. Since I’ve gotten so big, I haven’t gotten out much.” Her light blue dress draped over her bulging belly.
Katherine’s eyes widened. “Are you sure you’re not having twins?”
“Nee.” Her friend laughed. “But I look like I am.” With a waddling gait she moved to the cabinet. “Do you want anything to drink?”
Katherine shook her head. “I can’t stay too long. I wanted to make sure you got the quilt before the boppli arrived. I have to work later today.”
“Maybe just a few minutes?” Mary Beth went back to the table and sat down. She reached for Katherine’s hand. “It’s been so long since we talked. ”
“We’ve both been busy.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “And you’ll be even busier in a few weeks.”
“Ya.” A radiant glow appeared on Mary Beth’s cheeks. “But I don’t want us to drift apart. You’re mei best friend.”
Katherine released her hand. “And I promise I’ll be the best aenti to your boppli.”
“The baby has plenty of onkels, that’s for sure.” Her smile dimmed a little.
Katherine frowned. “What’s wrong? It’s not the boppli, is it?”
“Nee.”
“Chris?”
“Chris is fine too. We’re happier than we’ve ever been.”
“Then what is it?”
Mary Beth sighed, but she didn’t reply.
“You know you can tell me anything. If something’s troubling you, I want to help.”
Her friend looked at Katherine. “It’s Johnny.”
Katherine’s heart twisted itself into a knot. She glanced away before steeling her emotions. “What about Johnny?”
“Are you sure you want to talk about him?”
“I’ve accepted that there’s no future for us. What I felt for Johnny was a childhood crush.”
A crush. The truth was, Katherine had loved Mary Beth’s twin brother Johnny for as long as she could remember. For years she held out hope for a chance, however small, however remote. She had clung to that dream as if she were drowning and it was her only lifeline.
But not anymore.
She sat straight in the chair, brightened her smile, and said, “What’s going on with him?”
“He’s been acting. . .different.”
“What do you mean?”
“Distant. Partly because he’s been working so many hours at the buggy shop. Mammsaid she barely sees him except for church service. He leaves early in the morning and comes home late. But when he is around, he’s quiet.”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” Katherine said. “Do you think he’s keeping something from your familye?”
Something. . .or someone?
Despite Katherine’s vow not to care, her heart constricted again at the thought.
“I don’t know.” Mary Beth’s brown eyes had lost the warmth they’d held moments ago. “He’s becoming like a stranger to me. To all of us. We’ve drifted apart.” Her smile faded. “Like you and I have.”
Katherine shook her head in protest. “You know I’m always here for you.”
Tears welled in Mary Beth’s eyes.
Katherine drew back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m always crying.” Mary Beth wiped her eyes. “It makes Chris ab im kopp. Hormones, I’m sure.” She sniffed, wiping her eyes. “I’m glad we’re still best friends.”
Katherine hugged Mary Beth. “We always will be.”
*****
Johnny Mullet put his hands on his hips and surveyed his new property. Four acres, a small house and an even smaller barn. All his.
The sad little farm didn’t look like much. But by the time he finished fixing everything up, no one would recognize it. He glanced at the empty pasture on the left side of the house. Tall grass, green and dense, swayed against a southerly breeze. He planned to purchase that acreage, too. Expand, and make his horse farm something he could be proud of.
If only Daed could see. . .
At the thought of his father, the grin faded from his face.
Hochmut, his father would say. Pride.
The worst character flaw any Amish could have.
But was there something wrong with feeling satisfied after hard work? After a job well done?
This wasn’t about pride. It was about independence. Making a good living. He’d seen his family struggle. He didn’t want that for his future. A future that, God willing, wouldn’t include only him.
With the hazy orange sun dipping below the horizon, Johnny hopped into his buggy and headed home. Ten minutes later he pulled up to his parents’ house. He was late for supper. Again. He quickly put up his horse and hurried into the house, sliding into his seat just as his father closed his eyes for grace.
After prayer, his mother passed his father a platter of ham. He speared a slice with his fork, peering at Johnny as he did. “Late day at work again?”
Johnny picked up a roll from the basket on the table. He drew in a deep breath. “Nee.”
“Then why are you late?”
“I bought a farm.”
Silence. Johnny glanced around the table. Caleb’s mouth dropped open, and Micah’s fork was poised in mid-air. Even six-year-old Eli gave him a funny look.
“You what?” His mother’s eyes went wide with shock.
“You know that house down the road a piece? The one with the barn in the back?”
“You mean that shack?” Caleb shook his head.
Micah scooped up a forkful of green beans. “Calling it a shack is a stretch.”
Their father cleared his throat. The boys ducked their heads and kept eating. He turned to Johnny. “When did you do this?”
“Signed the paperwork yesterday.”
“Where did you get the money?”
He was already tired of the third degree, but he had expected no less. “Savings. From my job at Gideon Bender’s.”
“You must have gotten it for a song,” Caleb added. “Or less than a song. Maybe just a note.” He chuckled.
“Caleb.” His father shot him a silencing look before turning to Johnny again. “I wish you had consulted me first.”
“I’m an adult, Daed. I didn’t think I had to.” Seeing the flash of hurt in his father’s eyes, he added, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“I hope so.”
January 30, 2013
Is It Done Yet?
Is it Done Yet? by Marta Perry
How do we know when a manuscript is done? Is it like soup--that wonderful moment when all the flavors are blended to perfection and nothing is under-or-over-done? I just wish I had the answer to this one!
I tend to tell myself a manuscript is finished when I finally hit Send and off it goes to the editor. I've had that lovely feeling twice in the past two weeks: last week my novella for an Amish Suspense anthology for Love Inspired Suspense went out; and yesterday I hit Send on the second book in my current Amish Suspense series for HQN Books, Search the Dark. Joy! Celebration! A piece of chocolate!
Unfortunately, reality hits too soon. I will barely have gotten back to the WIP and engrossed myself in its world when revisions from the editors will arrive. By then, having divorced myself from those projects and fallen totally in love with the new one, I'll have to drag myself kicking and screaming to revisit them. I thought this story was done! Didn't I give it my all? It's time to walk around the house muttering to myself for an hour or a day, letting my whiny inner child have her say. As one of my grandkids is prone to say about homework when she wants to go out and play, "Isn't it good enough?"
I must confess, though, that once I regain my perspective it can be inspiring to see my precious darling through the eyes of the editor. All those little loose ends and repetitions are dragged out into the light and must be dealt with. This should be strengthened, that should be trimmed. And suddenly I'm enthusiastic about the story again as I see how much better and stronger it can be.
So no, it isn't good enough, not yet. Non-writers are sometimes amazed at how collaborative a work of fiction is, even when only one name is on the cover. There's the agent, who helped to shape the original series concept; the editor, who contributed suggestions at the proposal stage and the revision stage; the writer friends, who offer support and cyber-chocolate as needed; and the author, alone with her computer but knowing help, advice, and support are only an e-mail away.
What about you? Whether you produce books or quilts, what do you feel when you finally say, "It's done!"?
How do we know when a manuscript is done? Is it like soup--that wonderful moment when all the flavors are blended to perfection and nothing is under-or-over-done? I just wish I had the answer to this one!
I tend to tell myself a manuscript is finished when I finally hit Send and off it goes to the editor. I've had that lovely feeling twice in the past two weeks: last week my novella for an Amish Suspense anthology for Love Inspired Suspense went out; and yesterday I hit Send on the second book in my current Amish Suspense series for HQN Books, Search the Dark. Joy! Celebration! A piece of chocolate!
Unfortunately, reality hits too soon. I will barely have gotten back to the WIP and engrossed myself in its world when revisions from the editors will arrive. By then, having divorced myself from those projects and fallen totally in love with the new one, I'll have to drag myself kicking and screaming to revisit them. I thought this story was done! Didn't I give it my all? It's time to walk around the house muttering to myself for an hour or a day, letting my whiny inner child have her say. As one of my grandkids is prone to say about homework when she wants to go out and play, "Isn't it good enough?"
I must confess, though, that once I regain my perspective it can be inspiring to see my precious darling through the eyes of the editor. All those little loose ends and repetitions are dragged out into the light and must be dealt with. This should be strengthened, that should be trimmed. And suddenly I'm enthusiastic about the story again as I see how much better and stronger it can be.
So no, it isn't good enough, not yet. Non-writers are sometimes amazed at how collaborative a work of fiction is, even when only one name is on the cover. There's the agent, who helped to shape the original series concept; the editor, who contributed suggestions at the proposal stage and the revision stage; the writer friends, who offer support and cyber-chocolate as needed; and the author, alone with her computer but knowing help, advice, and support are only an e-mail away.
What about you? Whether you produce books or quilts, what do you feel when you finally say, "It's done!"?
December 12, 2012
A CHRISTMAS GIFT
Merry Christmas! I have a special Christmas gift for you--a brand-new Pleasant Valley short story, free. A PLEASANT VALLEY CHRISTMAS features Leah, from the first book in the Pleasant Valley series, LEAH'S CHOICE, and her growing family as they celebrate a somewhat stressful Christmas. To read it, head on over to my website at http://www.martaperry.com. You'll see the story link on the first page.
Wishing you a very happy Christmas. My husband and I will be celebrating with our kids and grandkids!
Blessings,
Marta
Wishing you a very happy Christmas. My husband and I will be celebrating with our kids and grandkids!
Blessings,
Marta
December 7, 2012
HOME BY DARK excerpt
HOME BY DARK, the first book in my new Amish suspense series, will be available in stores and online on December 18th.
Here's a sample:
HOME BY DARK Prologue
The deserted barn loomed ahead of them, broken beams jutting up toward the darkening sky like menacing fingers. Benjamin Mason shivered, and the gas cans Will had made him carry clanked together.
Will’s head jerked around at the sound. “Keep it quiet.” His voice was a low mutter of Pennsylvania Dutch. “You want to get us arrested?”
“Told you we shouldn’t‘ve brought him.” Joseph Stoltz frowned at him. Both the older boys wore Englisch clothes, and they’d snickered at Benj for showing up dressed Amish.
All very well for them to put on jeans and tee shirts. They were both old enough to have started their rumspringa, and parents turned a blind eye to such clothes then. But he was only fourteen, and Daad would skin him if he found Benj in a get-up like that.
He shivered again, half with cold, half with fear of where this adventure was taking him. It grew chilly at night this early in June, especially out here on the wooded hillside. He hadn’t thought to bring a jacket when he’d crawled out his window and slid down the roof of the woodshed. He’d been too excited that Will and Joseph were letting him come along to think about that.
Now his mind was churning, and he didn’t like what it was telling him. That it was a mistake for him to get involved, that he’d be shaming Daad and Mammi, that—
A loud creak sounded through the trees, and Benj didn’t need Will Esch’s gesture to drop to his knees behind the closest fallen log. Another sound from up ahead, one that he couldn’t identify. Why would anyone be up here in the woods overlooking Deer Run at night? Nobody’d be interested in that falling down barn.
Nobody but Will, who figured it would make a fine blaze up there on top of the hill for the whole village to see. Benj eased his hands away from the gas cans and rubbed clammy palms on his pants. He should of had better sense.
Will leaned over. “I’ll go check it out,” he whispered. “Wait for my signal, ja?”
With Will’s eyes on him, Benj could only nod. Too late now for second thoughts.
Will slipped over the log and slithered through the trees toward the barn. Benj leaned against the rough bark, wishing he was home in his bed. Will was moving quickly—Benj could see him, a dark shadow weaving through the trees. He’d be at the barn in a minute.
Benj turned away, sliding down to sit on the ground. In no time they’d hear Will whistle. Benj would have no choice but to pick up the gas cans and go along. Will was right about one thing. That dry old wood would make a fine blaze. But if they got caught…
He’d never seen an Englisch jail, but it seemed a pretty fair guess he wouldn’t like it.
“What’s taking so long?” Joseph muttered, peering over the log. “I can’t see him—“
He broke off at the sound of a motor. Lights swept through the trees, and Benj’s heart stopped. A vehicle was coming up the old logging road toward the barn. If Will was seen—
A man’s voice, shouting. Then, incredibly, a shotgun cracked through the woods, sending crows lifting in a noisy cloud from the trees. Benj was frozen, wits dazed by the sound.
And then Will vaulted over the log, shoving him with a hard hand. “Run,” he ordered.
Benj scrambled to his feet, following Will, with Joseph a step behind him, bolting through the brush. Another report, a branch crashing to the ground, and he was running as hard and fast as he could, running as if the devil himself were at his heels, crashing through the undergrowth heading down the hill and toward the road, if they got to the road they’d be safe, no one would shoot there—
An eternity later they stumbled out onto the macadam of the road that wound through Deer Run. Across the way was Mason House, where his sister Rachel lived now. He could go to Rachel, he could tell her—
Will grabbed his arm, shook him. “Where’s the cans?”
Benj blinked, then jerked his head toward the hillside. “Back there.”
“Dummy.” Will shoved him. “Ach, they can’t tell who we were from that. All we’ve gotta do is keep quiet.”
Joseph, always more cautious than Will, moved nervously. “But they were shooting. We should—“
“You should be quiet, like I tell you,” Wills snarled. “You didn’t see anything, you don’t say anything, not to anyone. Got that?”
He spun, grabbing Benj by the shirt. “Answer me. You got that?”
Benj nodded. He hadn’t seen anything--that was for sure. Just a dark shape, wielding what had to be a shotgun. And right now he didn’t know whether he was more afraid of Will or the man with the gun.
Chapter One
Something was wrong with her little brother. Rachel Mason Mason swept the paint roller along the wall of what would be the registration area for her bed and breakfast, darting a sideways glance at her brother Benjamin.
Benjamin knelt on the drop-cloth, straw-colored hair hiding his eyes, as he carefully cut in the edge of cream paint next to the woodwork. Benj might only be fourteen, but like most Amish youth, he possessed a number of practical skills, along with a strong work ethic. He’d said he’d help her with the painting, and he’d turned up bright and early this morning for what he called a work frolic.
Rachel suppressed a faint twinge at the expression. With any ordinary Amish family, a dozen or more relatives would have shown up at the word she needed help with the house her mother-in-law had so surprisingly left her.
But she was not Amish any longer. Running away to marry Ronnie Mason at eighteen, leaving behind her home, her family, and her faith, had put a period to that part of her life. Even though she’d come back to Deer Run in the end, a widow with a nine-year-old daughter to support, she couldn’t expect to be treated as anything other than an outsider.
“New paint makes it look better, for sure.” Benj sat back on his heels, glancing up at her with eyes as blue as her own.
Innocent eyes, but holding an edge of worry that didn’t belong there. Benj shouldn’t be jumping at sudden sounds and glancing warily around corners. That wasn’t normal.
“Was ist letz?” The question came out without conscious thought in Pennsylvania Dutch, maybe because that was the language of her heart. “What’s wrong, Benj? Are you worried about something?”
His hand jerked, depositing a drop of cream paint on the woodwork, and he bent to wipe it off with concentrated care. Benj was outgrowing the blue shirt he wore, his wrists sticking out of the sleeves, and the back of his neck was as vulnerable as Mandy’s.
“Worried?” he said finally, not looking at her. “I got nothing to worry about, ain’t so?” He tried to make it sound light, but his voice shook a little.
Rachel wanted to touch his shoulder, to draw him into her arms for comforting the way she would have when he was four. But she’d left then, abandoning him as she had the rest of the family. The fact that he seemed willing to start fresh with her didn’t mean she could go back to the way things once were.
“I don’t want to pry,” she said, choosing the words carefully. “But if you ever want to tell me anything at all, I can keep it to myself.”
Benj seemed frozen, brush poised an inch from the wall. She held her breath, willing him to speak.
Don't forget to order your copy today!
Here's a sample:HOME BY DARK Prologue
The deserted barn loomed ahead of them, broken beams jutting up toward the darkening sky like menacing fingers. Benjamin Mason shivered, and the gas cans Will had made him carry clanked together.
Will’s head jerked around at the sound. “Keep it quiet.” His voice was a low mutter of Pennsylvania Dutch. “You want to get us arrested?”
“Told you we shouldn’t‘ve brought him.” Joseph Stoltz frowned at him. Both the older boys wore Englisch clothes, and they’d snickered at Benj for showing up dressed Amish.
All very well for them to put on jeans and tee shirts. They were both old enough to have started their rumspringa, and parents turned a blind eye to such clothes then. But he was only fourteen, and Daad would skin him if he found Benj in a get-up like that.
He shivered again, half with cold, half with fear of where this adventure was taking him. It grew chilly at night this early in June, especially out here on the wooded hillside. He hadn’t thought to bring a jacket when he’d crawled out his window and slid down the roof of the woodshed. He’d been too excited that Will and Joseph were letting him come along to think about that.
Now his mind was churning, and he didn’t like what it was telling him. That it was a mistake for him to get involved, that he’d be shaming Daad and Mammi, that—
A loud creak sounded through the trees, and Benj didn’t need Will Esch’s gesture to drop to his knees behind the closest fallen log. Another sound from up ahead, one that he couldn’t identify. Why would anyone be up here in the woods overlooking Deer Run at night? Nobody’d be interested in that falling down barn.
Nobody but Will, who figured it would make a fine blaze up there on top of the hill for the whole village to see. Benj eased his hands away from the gas cans and rubbed clammy palms on his pants. He should of had better sense.
Will leaned over. “I’ll go check it out,” he whispered. “Wait for my signal, ja?”
With Will’s eyes on him, Benj could only nod. Too late now for second thoughts.
Will slipped over the log and slithered through the trees toward the barn. Benj leaned against the rough bark, wishing he was home in his bed. Will was moving quickly—Benj could see him, a dark shadow weaving through the trees. He’d be at the barn in a minute.
Benj turned away, sliding down to sit on the ground. In no time they’d hear Will whistle. Benj would have no choice but to pick up the gas cans and go along. Will was right about one thing. That dry old wood would make a fine blaze. But if they got caught…
He’d never seen an Englisch jail, but it seemed a pretty fair guess he wouldn’t like it.
“What’s taking so long?” Joseph muttered, peering over the log. “I can’t see him—“
He broke off at the sound of a motor. Lights swept through the trees, and Benj’s heart stopped. A vehicle was coming up the old logging road toward the barn. If Will was seen—
A man’s voice, shouting. Then, incredibly, a shotgun cracked through the woods, sending crows lifting in a noisy cloud from the trees. Benj was frozen, wits dazed by the sound.
And then Will vaulted over the log, shoving him with a hard hand. “Run,” he ordered.
Benj scrambled to his feet, following Will, with Joseph a step behind him, bolting through the brush. Another report, a branch crashing to the ground, and he was running as hard and fast as he could, running as if the devil himself were at his heels, crashing through the undergrowth heading down the hill and toward the road, if they got to the road they’d be safe, no one would shoot there—
An eternity later they stumbled out onto the macadam of the road that wound through Deer Run. Across the way was Mason House, where his sister Rachel lived now. He could go to Rachel, he could tell her—
Will grabbed his arm, shook him. “Where’s the cans?”
Benj blinked, then jerked his head toward the hillside. “Back there.”
“Dummy.” Will shoved him. “Ach, they can’t tell who we were from that. All we’ve gotta do is keep quiet.”
Joseph, always more cautious than Will, moved nervously. “But they were shooting. We should—“
“You should be quiet, like I tell you,” Wills snarled. “You didn’t see anything, you don’t say anything, not to anyone. Got that?”
He spun, grabbing Benj by the shirt. “Answer me. You got that?”
Benj nodded. He hadn’t seen anything--that was for sure. Just a dark shape, wielding what had to be a shotgun. And right now he didn’t know whether he was more afraid of Will or the man with the gun.
Chapter One
Something was wrong with her little brother. Rachel Mason Mason swept the paint roller along the wall of what would be the registration area for her bed and breakfast, darting a sideways glance at her brother Benjamin.
Benjamin knelt on the drop-cloth, straw-colored hair hiding his eyes, as he carefully cut in the edge of cream paint next to the woodwork. Benj might only be fourteen, but like most Amish youth, he possessed a number of practical skills, along with a strong work ethic. He’d said he’d help her with the painting, and he’d turned up bright and early this morning for what he called a work frolic.
Rachel suppressed a faint twinge at the expression. With any ordinary Amish family, a dozen or more relatives would have shown up at the word she needed help with the house her mother-in-law had so surprisingly left her.
But she was not Amish any longer. Running away to marry Ronnie Mason at eighteen, leaving behind her home, her family, and her faith, had put a period to that part of her life. Even though she’d come back to Deer Run in the end, a widow with a nine-year-old daughter to support, she couldn’t expect to be treated as anything other than an outsider.
“New paint makes it look better, for sure.” Benj sat back on his heels, glancing up at her with eyes as blue as her own.
Innocent eyes, but holding an edge of worry that didn’t belong there. Benj shouldn’t be jumping at sudden sounds and glancing warily around corners. That wasn’t normal.
“Was ist letz?” The question came out without conscious thought in Pennsylvania Dutch, maybe because that was the language of her heart. “What’s wrong, Benj? Are you worried about something?”
His hand jerked, depositing a drop of cream paint on the woodwork, and he bent to wipe it off with concentrated care. Benj was outgrowing the blue shirt he wore, his wrists sticking out of the sleeves, and the back of his neck was as vulnerable as Mandy’s.
“Worried?” he said finally, not looking at her. “I got nothing to worry about, ain’t so?” He tried to make it sound light, but his voice shook a little.
Rachel wanted to touch his shoulder, to draw him into her arms for comforting the way she would have when he was four. But she’d left then, abandoning him as she had the rest of the family. The fact that he seemed willing to start fresh with her didn’t mean she could go back to the way things once were.
“I don’t want to pry,” she said, choosing the words carefully. “But if you ever want to tell me anything at all, I can keep it to myself.”
Benj seemed frozen, brush poised an inch from the wall. She held her breath, willing him to speak.
Don't forget to order your copy today!
November 2, 2012
SCAVENGER HUNT WINNERS!
The big scavenger hunt winners will have received their notifications by now, so I'll go ahead with my announcement. The winner of the four-book Amish suspense series is gilliach@yahoo.com.
Because we had so many entrants, I've decided to send another five individual books to the following:
marypres@gmail.com; sapphirefeltner@optimum.net, mesreads@gmail.com; crazi.swans@gmail.com; and cdegr002@gmail.com.
I'll be sending individual emails to the winners. If you see your name here and don't receive an email from me within the next day asking for your mailing address, please feel free to go ahead and send your mailing address to me at marta@martaperry.com.
Congratulations! I hope everyone enjoyed the hunt!
Blessings,
Marta
Because we had so many entrants, I've decided to send another five individual books to the following:
marypres@gmail.com; sapphirefeltner@optimum.net, mesreads@gmail.com; crazi.swans@gmail.com; and cdegr002@gmail.com.
I'll be sending individual emails to the winners. If you see your name here and don't receive an email from me within the next day asking for your mailing address, please feel free to go ahead and send your mailing address to me at marta@martaperry.com.
Congratulations! I hope everyone enjoyed the hunt!
Blessings,
Marta
October 25, 2012
SCAVENGER HUNT STOP #8
Follow the clues to win a Kindle Fire, free books and more!
WELCOME to the Fall Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt! The hunt begins on October 25th at noon MDT and ends October 28th at midnight MDT. You don’t have to do it all at once—take your time and enjoy visiting thirty-one Christian fiction authors. You’ll meet authors with new or soon-to-be-released novels and read special bonus material at each stop. Collect the clues in red on each post, beginning from Stop #1 (http://www.LisaBergren.com) and at Stop #32, fill out the Rafflecopter form. Be ready to provide the completed clue quote, gathered from all 31 stops, within 24 hours of email notification or another winner will be randomly drawn. No need to email/submit it, unless you are notified on 10/29/12.
· Grand Prize: A new Kindle Fire, plus 31 new novels
· 2nd & 3rd Prizes: $50 Amazon, B&N, CBD or BookDepository.com gift certificate
· (Contest is open to international entrants. If the winner lives outside the United States, they shall win the equivalent in gift certificate funds to the prize in US dollars.)
Meet Ronie Kendig, my guest today.
Christy Award winning author Ronie Kendig grew up an Army brat and married a veteran. Her life is never dull in a family with four children and three dogs. She has a degree in psychology, speaks to various groups, volunteers with the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), and mentors new writers. Rapid-Fire Fiction, her brand, is exemplified through her novels. She’s here today to talk about her latest book.
TRINITY
A year ago in Afghanistan, Green Beret Heath Daniel's career was destroyed. Along with his faith.
Though his passion is to be back in action, the medical discharge has forced Heath—and Trinity—to the sidelines.
Military intelligence officer Darci Kintz is captured while secretly tracking the Taliban. Only one dog can handle the extreme conditions to save her. Trinity. Only one man can handle Trinity.
Time is running out on the greatest—and most dangerous—mission of their lives.
AN EXCLUSIVE “LOST SCENE” FROM TRINITY:
Below is a deleted scene from TRINITY: MILITARY WAR DOG.
“Why are you baiting him?” Aspen swatted Timbrel's arm. “You need to learn how to play nice.”
“Playing nice leaves the good guys dead.”
Aspen cast her friend a look. Timbrel had lost the first and only man she'd fallen in love with—a fellow handler in Iraq—during a night-raid gone bad. And the whole Prince Charming thing? Surely Timbrel wasn't... “Why are you looking at him like that?”
Eyes locked on her target, she chewed her bottom lip, thinking. “Did you see it?”
“What?”
“He's haunted.”
Aspen shot a look to the rugged-looking handler. Yeah, she'd seen it too. His hesitation, the way he'd look at Talon as if he saw himself. His gun-shy attitude. Wasn’t he a Green Beret? She couldn’t imagine a Special Forces grunt backing down the way he had several times.
“If he goes back there,” Timbrel said, “ya know, the way Jibril wants him to, he's going to die.”
“Timbrel!”
“He's still trapped in the past.”
“Okay,” Aspen said, watching Daniels hustling his Belgian Malinois through the course. There, with his dog, he was in his element. No hesitation. No backing down. But what worried her, was not the man’s hesitation but Timbrel’s. “What are you thinking?”
“We all go.”
Aspen's breath backed into her throat, causing her to choke-cough. She cleared the snag and shook her head. “No. Talon's not ready.”
Timbrel look at her over her shoulder. “What if taking Talon back there unlocks the warrior he once was?”
Was that even possible? Did that side of her brother's beautiful dog still exist?
“We have to convince Jibril that we all go, or none of us go. Or this organization is dead before it starts.”
You can purchase Ronie Kendig’s novel, Trinity, at http://www.amazon.com/Trinity-Militar... , Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/trini... , CBD, http://www.christianbook.com/trinity-military-war-dog-breed-apart/ronie-kendig/9781616265946/pd/265940?item_code=WW&netp_id=974340&event=ESRCG&view=details or at your local bookstore.
THE SCAVENGER HUNT BASICS:
Before you go, write down this STOP 8 clue: TO
Your next stop is Ronie Kendig’sown blog! Go to http://www.roniekendig.com/mdaleyshattered/
BONUS PRIZES!!!
Oh, and if you want a chance to win the four books in the Brotherhood Amish Suspense series (Murder in Plain Sight, Vanish in Plain Sight, Danger in Plain Sight, and Dark Crossings), be sure to leave a comment mentioning it.
WELCOME to the Fall Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt! The hunt begins on October 25th at noon MDT and ends October 28th at midnight MDT. You don’t have to do it all at once—take your time and enjoy visiting thirty-one Christian fiction authors. You’ll meet authors with new or soon-to-be-released novels and read special bonus material at each stop. Collect the clues in red on each post, beginning from Stop #1 (http://www.LisaBergren.com) and at Stop #32, fill out the Rafflecopter form. Be ready to provide the completed clue quote, gathered from all 31 stops, within 24 hours of email notification or another winner will be randomly drawn. No need to email/submit it, unless you are notified on 10/29/12.
· Grand Prize: A new Kindle Fire, plus 31 new novels
· 2nd & 3rd Prizes: $50 Amazon, B&N, CBD or BookDepository.com gift certificate
· (Contest is open to international entrants. If the winner lives outside the United States, they shall win the equivalent in gift certificate funds to the prize in US dollars.)
Meet Ronie Kendig, my guest today.
Christy Award winning author Ronie Kendig grew up an Army brat and married a veteran. Her life is never dull in a family with four children and three dogs. She has a degree in psychology, speaks to various groups, volunteers with the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), and mentors new writers. Rapid-Fire Fiction, her brand, is exemplified through her novels. She’s here today to talk about her latest book.TRINITY
A year ago in Afghanistan, Green Beret Heath Daniel's career was destroyed. Along with his faith.
Though his passion is to be back in action, the medical discharge has forced Heath—and Trinity—to the sidelines.
Military intelligence officer Darci Kintz is captured while secretly tracking the Taliban. Only one dog can handle the extreme conditions to save her. Trinity. Only one man can handle Trinity.
Time is running out on the greatest—and most dangerous—mission of their lives.
AN EXCLUSIVE “LOST SCENE” FROM TRINITY:
Below is a deleted scene from TRINITY: MILITARY WAR DOG.
“Why are you baiting him?” Aspen swatted Timbrel's arm. “You need to learn how to play nice.”
“Playing nice leaves the good guys dead.”
Aspen cast her friend a look. Timbrel had lost the first and only man she'd fallen in love with—a fellow handler in Iraq—during a night-raid gone bad. And the whole Prince Charming thing? Surely Timbrel wasn't... “Why are you looking at him like that?”
Eyes locked on her target, she chewed her bottom lip, thinking. “Did you see it?”
“What?”
“He's haunted.”
Aspen shot a look to the rugged-looking handler. Yeah, she'd seen it too. His hesitation, the way he'd look at Talon as if he saw himself. His gun-shy attitude. Wasn’t he a Green Beret? She couldn’t imagine a Special Forces grunt backing down the way he had several times.
“If he goes back there,” Timbrel said, “ya know, the way Jibril wants him to, he's going to die.”
“Timbrel!”
“He's still trapped in the past.”
“Okay,” Aspen said, watching Daniels hustling his Belgian Malinois through the course. There, with his dog, he was in his element. No hesitation. No backing down. But what worried her, was not the man’s hesitation but Timbrel’s. “What are you thinking?”
“We all go.”
Aspen's breath backed into her throat, causing her to choke-cough. She cleared the snag and shook her head. “No. Talon's not ready.”
Timbrel look at her over her shoulder. “What if taking Talon back there unlocks the warrior he once was?”
Was that even possible? Did that side of her brother's beautiful dog still exist?
“We have to convince Jibril that we all go, or none of us go. Or this organization is dead before it starts.”
You can purchase Ronie Kendig’s novel, Trinity, at http://www.amazon.com/Trinity-Militar... , Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/trini... , CBD, http://www.christianbook.com/trinity-military-war-dog-breed-apart/ronie-kendig/9781616265946/pd/265940?item_code=WW&netp_id=974340&event=ESRCG&view=details or at your local bookstore. THE SCAVENGER HUNT BASICS:
Before you go, write down this STOP 8 clue: TO
Your next stop is Ronie Kendig’sown blog! Go to http://www.roniekendig.com/mdaleyshattered/
BONUS PRIZES!!!
Oh, and if you want a chance to win the four books in the Brotherhood Amish Suspense series (Murder in Plain Sight, Vanish in Plain Sight, Danger in Plain Sight, and Dark Crossings), be sure to leave a comment mentioning it.
October 19, 2012
CHRISTIAN FICTION SCAVENER HUNT
The fall Christian fiction scavenger hunt will be coming up next week, and I hope you'll be ready and eager to hunt for some fabulous prizes!
Check out this wonderful prize package. In addition to all the books shown below, we'll also be awarding the following prizes: Grand prize: 31 new released novels plus a brand new Kindle Fire.2nd and 3rd prizes: $50 gift card to Amazon, B&N, CBD.com, or BookDepository.com. Individual authors will also be giving extra prizes on their sites. Details on how to do the hunt (and begin it) will be found at www.LisaBergren.com AFTER 10/25 noon MST.
Check out this wonderful prize package. In addition to all the books shown below, we'll also be awarding the following prizes: Grand prize: 31 new released novels plus a brand new Kindle Fire.2nd and 3rd prizes: $50 gift card to Amazon, B&N, CBD.com, or BookDepository.com. Individual authors will also be giving extra prizes on their sites. Details on how to do the hunt (and begin it) will be found at www.LisaBergren.com AFTER 10/25 noon MST.
October 1, 2012
NAOMI'S CHRISTMAS except
Naomi's Christmas is available in stores and online today, and I hope you'll be looking for it. Here's a taste of the first scene:
NAOMI’S CHRISTMAS
Naomi Esch froze in her seat at the family table, unable to stop staring at her father. Daadi had just tossed what felt like a lightning bolt into the middle of her thirtieth birthday celebration. Around her, she could feel her siblings and their spouses stuck in equally unbelieving attitudes.
“Ach, what is wrong with all of you?” Daadi, eyes narrowing, his beard seeming tobristle,glared at his offspring. “This is a reason to celebrate, ain’t so?”
Lovina, her brother Elijah’s wife, was the first to recover, her sweet, heart-shaped face matching her character. “We wish you and Betty much happiness.” She bounced baby Mattie, who’d begun to fuss, in her arms. “Wilkom, Betty.”
Betty Shutz, a round dumpling of a woman with a pair of shrewd brown eyes, nodded and smiled, but the glance she sent toward Naomi was cautious.
Isaiah, the youngest and most impetuous, said what everyone must be thinking. “But what about Naomi? If you and Betty are marrying, what is Naomi to do?”
The question roused Naomi from her frozen state. What was she supposed to do, after fifteen years spent raising her siblings, tending the house and garden and her beehives, and taking care of Daadi?
Daadi’s gaze shifted, maybe a bit uneasily. “Naomi is a gut daughter, none better. No one would deny that. But newlyweds want to have time alone together, ja? So we…I was thinking Naomi would move in with Elijah and Lovina. They are both busy with the dry-goods store and three young kinder besides. It would be a big help to you, ja?”
Elijah and Lovina exchanged glances, and then Lovina smiled at Naomi. “Nothing would please us more than to have Naomi with us, but that is for her to say, ain’t so?”
“Denke, Lovina.” Naomi found that her stiff lips could move, after all. “But what about my bee hives?”
Odd, that her thoughts had flown so quickly to her bees in the face of this shock. Or maybe not so odd. The bee hives were the only thing she could call truly hers.
“I’ve already talked to Dick Holder about the hives, and he’ll be happy to give Naomi a gut price for them.” Daad spoke as if it were all settled; her life completely changed in a few short minutes.
“I will not sell the hives.” Naomi could hardly believe that strong tone was coming out of her mouth. Everyone else looked equally surprised. Maybe they’d never heard such firmness from her.
Daad’s eyebrows drew down as he stared at her. “Komm, Naomi, don’t be stubborn. It is the sensible thing to do. Betty is allergic to bee stings, so the hives cannot stay here. And Elijah’s home in town isn’t suitable. The money will give you a nice little nest egg for the future.”
A babble of talk erupted around her as everyone seemed to have an opinion, but Naomi’s thoughts were stuck on the words Daad had used. Her future. He clearly thought he knew what that future was to be. She should move from one sibling to another, helping to raise their children, never having a home or a life of her own.
She was engaging in selfish thinking, maybe, and unfitting for a humble Amish person. But…
She looked around the table. Elijah, two years younger than she, whom she’d comforted when bad dreams woke him in the night. Anna and Mary, the next two in the family. She’d taught the girls everything they needed to know as Amish women, overseen their rumspringa, seen them married to gut men they loved. And Isaiah, the baby, the one whose first stumbling steps she’d guided. Were they to be her future, as they had her past?
Much as she loved them, her heart yearned for more. Marriage might have passed her by during those years when she was busy raising her siblings, but she’d looked forward to a satisfying future, taking care of Daad, tending her hives, enjoying her part-time work at the bakery.
Amos, Elijah’s middle child, just two, tugged on her skirt. A glance at his face told her he’d detected the strain in the air. She lifted him to her lap, running her hand down his back, murmuring soothing words. He leaned against her, relaxing, sucking on two fingers as he always did before going to sleep.
Lovina met her gaze from across the table and smiled. “Naomi is wonderful gut with children.”
“For sure,” Betty said, her first contribution to the conversation. “A widower with kinder would do well to have a wife like Naomi.”
Somehow that comment, coming from Betty, was the last straw. Naomi had to speak now, and quickly, before the rest of her life was set in stone by the family.
“You are all ser kind to give so much thought to my life. But as dearly as I love my nieces and nephews, I have no wish to raise them. And I will not give up my bee hives. So I think I must find this answer for myself.”
She took advantage of the ensuing silence to move the sleeping child to his father’s arms. Grabbing a heavy wool shawl from the peg by the back door, she walked out, closing the door gently behind her.
Mid-November, and it was ser chilly already, a hint of the winter to come. Even the hardy mums on the sheltered side of the house had succumbed to frost. Clutching the shawl more tightly, she walked across brittle grass to the gnarled old apple tree that had once held a tree-house when the boys were young. It was a relief to get out of the kitchen, too warm from all the cooking that had been done today for her birthday. This day had certainly turned out far different from the celebration her sisters had so lovingly planned.
She stopped under the tree, resting her hand against the rough bark. No point in going farther—she couldn’t escape her family, and she wouldn’t want to. Soon someone would come out to talk to her, and she would have to explain and justify and try to make them understand. But for this moment she was alone with her thoughts.
The family had one thing right. She did have a gift with children, and she couldn’t deny that gift. But to raise someone else’s children again, to grow to love them so dearly, but to know that she always took second place in their hearts…no, she couldn’t. But when she tried to think how to carry out that brave declaration she’d made, she found she was lacking in ideas.
It was Isaiah who came out to her. Maybe they thought the youngest would be most likely to soften her heart. But Isaiah was a man grown now, married for just a year, and so much in love with his Libby. Not a baby any longer, but he still seemed so young to her with his round blue eyes and his corn-silk hair. The beard he was growing as a married man was as fine and silky as his hair.
He leaned against the tree next to her, his eyes serious as he studied her face. “Are you all right?”
Naomi managed a smile, though it probably wasn’t very convincing. “Ja. I will be, anyway. I guess Daad’s news was a shock.”
“For sure.” Isaiah shook his head. “It wonders me that none of us saw this marriage coming, but we didn’t. I guess we all figured that if Daad had been going to wed again, he’d have done it years ago.”
“Then Betty would have had the raising of you.” Her smile was more natural this time.
Isaiah seemed to shudder. “Ach, I’m sure she’s a gut woman. But I’m glad it was you who brought me up, Naomi.”
For an instant she was surprised almost to tears. “Denke,” she whispered, her throat tight. She’d never say she loved one more than another, but Isaiah was especially dear, both because he was the baby and because of his sweet nature.
She tilted her head, watching him, wondering how he would react to the question she was about to put to him. “What about you, Isaiah? Do you think I’m being selfish not to do what Daadi wants?”
He blinked, eyes wide and innocent. “Ach, Naomi, everyone knows there’s not a selfish bone in your body, no matter—“ He stopped, looking as if he’d bitten his tongue.
So that was what someone had been saying, once she’d left the kitchen. Well, she wouldn’t put Isaiah in the middle by noticing.
“I guess the first thing is to find a place for my beehives,” she said, deliberately turning the subject. “It’s not going to be an easy job, moving them all.”
“I’ll help,” he said instantly. “And I was thinking that I should ask Nathan if you could have them on his farm. With Libby and me living right on the property, I could keep an eye on things for you.”
Naomi hesitated. Isaiah enjoyed working for Nathan King on his dairy farm, and she didn’t want to cause any difficulties between them by asking for something Nathan might not be so eager to grant.
“I wonder if that’s wise,” she said, careful to keep her voice neutral. “Mary and I were such close friends, and Nathan still mourns her so deeply even after two years. He might not want to have me around, reminding him of her.”
Vertical lines formed between Isaiah’s brows. “It’s true he’s still grieving for Mary. But as for reminding him…well, he seems to be thinking about her all the time anyway.”
“Poor Nathan,” she murmured. And poor Mary, gone far too early, it seemed, in such a freak accident, leaving Nathan and two young kinder behind. She accepted it as God’s will, but she couldn’t help wishing it had been otherwise.
“Ja.” Isaiah straightened, pushing away from the tree. “Let me talk to him, anyway. I’ll make it easy for him to say no, if that’s what he’s of a mind to do.”
She was still doubtful, but she nodded. “I guess it can’t hurt to ask.”
“That’s right. And if he says no, we’ll find someone else.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re cold. Let’s go inside.”
She hung back. “Daadi will just start on persuading me again.”
“He won’t.” Isaiah sounded confident. “Betty told him it was best to let you think about it and get used to the idea without him pushing you.”
“And he agreed to that?” It didn’t sound like Daadi at all. Once he’d made up his mind, he was like a rock.
“He did.” Isaiah grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “Seems like Betty can manage him better than the rest of us put together. This is all going to turn out for the best, you’ll see.”
Naomi nodded as they started toward the house, not wanting to lay her burdens any more heavily on Isaiah. But she doubted this situation could possibly turn out for the best…for her, anyway.
NAOMI’S CHRISTMAS
Naomi Esch froze in her seat at the family table, unable to stop staring at her father. Daadi had just tossed what felt like a lightning bolt into the middle of her thirtieth birthday celebration. Around her, she could feel her siblings and their spouses stuck in equally unbelieving attitudes.“Ach, what is wrong with all of you?” Daadi, eyes narrowing, his beard seeming tobristle,glared at his offspring. “This is a reason to celebrate, ain’t so?”
Lovina, her brother Elijah’s wife, was the first to recover, her sweet, heart-shaped face matching her character. “We wish you and Betty much happiness.” She bounced baby Mattie, who’d begun to fuss, in her arms. “Wilkom, Betty.”
Betty Shutz, a round dumpling of a woman with a pair of shrewd brown eyes, nodded and smiled, but the glance she sent toward Naomi was cautious.
Isaiah, the youngest and most impetuous, said what everyone must be thinking. “But what about Naomi? If you and Betty are marrying, what is Naomi to do?”
The question roused Naomi from her frozen state. What was she supposed to do, after fifteen years spent raising her siblings, tending the house and garden and her beehives, and taking care of Daadi?
Daadi’s gaze shifted, maybe a bit uneasily. “Naomi is a gut daughter, none better. No one would deny that. But newlyweds want to have time alone together, ja? So we…I was thinking Naomi would move in with Elijah and Lovina. They are both busy with the dry-goods store and three young kinder besides. It would be a big help to you, ja?”
Elijah and Lovina exchanged glances, and then Lovina smiled at Naomi. “Nothing would please us more than to have Naomi with us, but that is for her to say, ain’t so?”
“Denke, Lovina.” Naomi found that her stiff lips could move, after all. “But what about my bee hives?”
Odd, that her thoughts had flown so quickly to her bees in the face of this shock. Or maybe not so odd. The bee hives were the only thing she could call truly hers.
“I’ve already talked to Dick Holder about the hives, and he’ll be happy to give Naomi a gut price for them.” Daad spoke as if it were all settled; her life completely changed in a few short minutes.
“I will not sell the hives.” Naomi could hardly believe that strong tone was coming out of her mouth. Everyone else looked equally surprised. Maybe they’d never heard such firmness from her.
Daad’s eyebrows drew down as he stared at her. “Komm, Naomi, don’t be stubborn. It is the sensible thing to do. Betty is allergic to bee stings, so the hives cannot stay here. And Elijah’s home in town isn’t suitable. The money will give you a nice little nest egg for the future.”
A babble of talk erupted around her as everyone seemed to have an opinion, but Naomi’s thoughts were stuck on the words Daad had used. Her future. He clearly thought he knew what that future was to be. She should move from one sibling to another, helping to raise their children, never having a home or a life of her own.
She was engaging in selfish thinking, maybe, and unfitting for a humble Amish person. But…
She looked around the table. Elijah, two years younger than she, whom she’d comforted when bad dreams woke him in the night. Anna and Mary, the next two in the family. She’d taught the girls everything they needed to know as Amish women, overseen their rumspringa, seen them married to gut men they loved. And Isaiah, the baby, the one whose first stumbling steps she’d guided. Were they to be her future, as they had her past?
Much as she loved them, her heart yearned for more. Marriage might have passed her by during those years when she was busy raising her siblings, but she’d looked forward to a satisfying future, taking care of Daad, tending her hives, enjoying her part-time work at the bakery.
Amos, Elijah’s middle child, just two, tugged on her skirt. A glance at his face told her he’d detected the strain in the air. She lifted him to her lap, running her hand down his back, murmuring soothing words. He leaned against her, relaxing, sucking on two fingers as he always did before going to sleep.
Lovina met her gaze from across the table and smiled. “Naomi is wonderful gut with children.”
“For sure,” Betty said, her first contribution to the conversation. “A widower with kinder would do well to have a wife like Naomi.”
Somehow that comment, coming from Betty, was the last straw. Naomi had to speak now, and quickly, before the rest of her life was set in stone by the family.
“You are all ser kind to give so much thought to my life. But as dearly as I love my nieces and nephews, I have no wish to raise them. And I will not give up my bee hives. So I think I must find this answer for myself.”
She took advantage of the ensuing silence to move the sleeping child to his father’s arms. Grabbing a heavy wool shawl from the peg by the back door, she walked out, closing the door gently behind her.
Mid-November, and it was ser chilly already, a hint of the winter to come. Even the hardy mums on the sheltered side of the house had succumbed to frost. Clutching the shawl more tightly, she walked across brittle grass to the gnarled old apple tree that had once held a tree-house when the boys were young. It was a relief to get out of the kitchen, too warm from all the cooking that had been done today for her birthday. This day had certainly turned out far different from the celebration her sisters had so lovingly planned.
She stopped under the tree, resting her hand against the rough bark. No point in going farther—she couldn’t escape her family, and she wouldn’t want to. Soon someone would come out to talk to her, and she would have to explain and justify and try to make them understand. But for this moment she was alone with her thoughts.
The family had one thing right. She did have a gift with children, and she couldn’t deny that gift. But to raise someone else’s children again, to grow to love them so dearly, but to know that she always took second place in their hearts…no, she couldn’t. But when she tried to think how to carry out that brave declaration she’d made, she found she was lacking in ideas.
It was Isaiah who came out to her. Maybe they thought the youngest would be most likely to soften her heart. But Isaiah was a man grown now, married for just a year, and so much in love with his Libby. Not a baby any longer, but he still seemed so young to her with his round blue eyes and his corn-silk hair. The beard he was growing as a married man was as fine and silky as his hair.
He leaned against the tree next to her, his eyes serious as he studied her face. “Are you all right?”
Naomi managed a smile, though it probably wasn’t very convincing. “Ja. I will be, anyway. I guess Daad’s news was a shock.”
“For sure.” Isaiah shook his head. “It wonders me that none of us saw this marriage coming, but we didn’t. I guess we all figured that if Daad had been going to wed again, he’d have done it years ago.”
“Then Betty would have had the raising of you.” Her smile was more natural this time.
Isaiah seemed to shudder. “Ach, I’m sure she’s a gut woman. But I’m glad it was you who brought me up, Naomi.”
For an instant she was surprised almost to tears. “Denke,” she whispered, her throat tight. She’d never say she loved one more than another, but Isaiah was especially dear, both because he was the baby and because of his sweet nature.
She tilted her head, watching him, wondering how he would react to the question she was about to put to him. “What about you, Isaiah? Do you think I’m being selfish not to do what Daadi wants?”
He blinked, eyes wide and innocent. “Ach, Naomi, everyone knows there’s not a selfish bone in your body, no matter—“ He stopped, looking as if he’d bitten his tongue.
So that was what someone had been saying, once she’d left the kitchen. Well, she wouldn’t put Isaiah in the middle by noticing.
“I guess the first thing is to find a place for my beehives,” she said, deliberately turning the subject. “It’s not going to be an easy job, moving them all.”
“I’ll help,” he said instantly. “And I was thinking that I should ask Nathan if you could have them on his farm. With Libby and me living right on the property, I could keep an eye on things for you.”
Naomi hesitated. Isaiah enjoyed working for Nathan King on his dairy farm, and she didn’t want to cause any difficulties between them by asking for something Nathan might not be so eager to grant.
“I wonder if that’s wise,” she said, careful to keep her voice neutral. “Mary and I were such close friends, and Nathan still mourns her so deeply even after two years. He might not want to have me around, reminding him of her.”
Vertical lines formed between Isaiah’s brows. “It’s true he’s still grieving for Mary. But as for reminding him…well, he seems to be thinking about her all the time anyway.”
“Poor Nathan,” she murmured. And poor Mary, gone far too early, it seemed, in such a freak accident, leaving Nathan and two young kinder behind. She accepted it as God’s will, but she couldn’t help wishing it had been otherwise.
“Ja.” Isaiah straightened, pushing away from the tree. “Let me talk to him, anyway. I’ll make it easy for him to say no, if that’s what he’s of a mind to do.”
She was still doubtful, but she nodded. “I guess it can’t hurt to ask.”
“That’s right. And if he says no, we’ll find someone else.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re cold. Let’s go inside.”
She hung back. “Daadi will just start on persuading me again.”
“He won’t.” Isaiah sounded confident. “Betty told him it was best to let you think about it and get used to the idea without him pushing you.”
“And he agreed to that?” It didn’t sound like Daadi at all. Once he’d made up his mind, he was like a rock.
“He did.” Isaiah grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “Seems like Betty can manage him better than the rest of us put together. This is all going to turn out for the best, you’ll see.”
Naomi nodded as they started toward the house, not wanting to lay her burdens any more heavily on Isaiah. But she doubted this situation could possibly turn out for the best…for her, anyway.
September 26, 2012
GUEST AUTHOR SUSAN MEISSNER
It’s a pleasure having award-winning novelist Susan Meissner here today to talk about her newest book from WaterBrook Press, The Girl in the Glass, a part-contemporary, part historical novel set in Florence, Italy. Susan is one of my favorite authors, and reading her new book took me back to the lovely days my husband and I spent in Florence. Susan has offered a free book to one of my readers, so leave a comment and be entered for the drawing. I'll pick a winner on Saturday.And for a chance to win a beautiful print of Florence, you can register at http://waterbrookmultnomah.com/experienceItaly/
1. Susan, tell us where the idea for this story came from.
For our 25th wedding anniversary a few years ago my husband and I took a much-anticipated eight-day Mediterranean cruise. One of the ports of call on the Italyside was close enough to Florenceto hop on a bus and spend the day there. When I stepped onto Florentine pavement I fell head over heels in love. There is something magical about Florence that I didn’t see in Rome, or even Parisif you can believe that. The artistic genius that meets your eye no matter which direction you turn is unparalleled. The beauty created by mere mortals during the Italian Renaissance is jaw-dropping. It was the perfect place to bring a disillusioned present-day character who needs to re-invent her life. That’s what Renaissance means: rebirth. I went back a couple years later with my mom, daughter, sisters and nieces and knew I just had to set a story there and somehow involve the infamous Medici family.
2. What is the story about, in a nutshell?
Meg Pomeroy is a disenchanted travel book editor unsure of her father's love, still smarting from a broken engagement, and whose normally cautious mother is suddenly dating a much younger man. Her perspective on everything that matters is skewed. She escapes to Florence, Italy, on a long-promised trip, believing her father will meet her there. True to form, he’s a no-show, but the trip allows her to connect with Lorenzo DiSantis, a writer she’s met only via Skype and e-mail, and Sofia Borelli, a tour guide and aspiring writer who claims she’s one of the last Medici, and that a sixteenth-century Medici granddaughter, Nora Orsini, speaks to her through Florence’s amazing statues and paintings. When Sophia, Meg, and Nora’s stories intersect, their lives are indelibly changed as they each answer the question: What if renaissance isn’t just a word? What if that’s what happens when you dare to believe that what is isn’t what it has to be?3. The Girl in the Glass refers to a painting that the heroine of your novel, Meg, loves. Describe the painting and what it stands for.
Because this story is set in Florence, against the backdrop of the most stunning art that can be seen today, I wanted there to be a current day painting that connected my main character, Meg, with this amazing city. The painting Meg loves features a little Florentine girl mimicking a statue whose marbled hand is extended toward her. The painting hung in her maternal grandmother’s house; a place where Meg felt loved and safe. Meg hasn’t seen the painting since she was a little girl. When her grandmother died, everything in the house was sold or parceled out to other family members. Meg knows the statue in the much-loved painting is real, that it is somewhere in Florence, and that it is likewise beckoning her to come. Since she doesn’t know where the painting is, she is set on finding the statue itself. In a way, the lost painting represents Meg’s perceived loss of her family when her parents divorced and everything stable in Meg’s life turned upside down.
4. In its review of The Girl in The Glass, Publishers Weeklysaid that this book is like taking a trip to Florence. What kind of research is involved in creating that kind of experience? Why do you think readers love to take those kinds of journeys in a novel?
The best kind of research is that which lets me usher the reader right into the time and place I want to take them, without them feeling anything — no motion sickness, if you will. So I need to know everything, not just facts and figures but even the subtle nuances of a time period. It means a lot of reading and note-taking. I usually end up collecting more data than I can possibly use, but I don’t always know what I’ll need until I am into the story, and the characters start talking and reacting and deciding. I think readers like the thrill of being somewhere they couldn’t visit any other way than through the pages of a book. Novels let us experience the lives of other people without having to make any of their mistakes. And we can also share their joys. And their victories. And the lessons they learned in the crucible of life.
5. One important plot in The Girl in the Glass deals with Meg’s disappointment in her parents’ divorce and her father’s behavior in the years following the divorce. What inspired this particular thematic exploration of disappointment with parental expectations?
My parents have been happily married for over fifty years so I had to research this aspect for the novel. I like to think of myself as a hungry observer; I tend to watch people, study them, to learn from them. I have seen a lot of people who grew up in homes where their parents had divorced and I’ve seen the effects of that severing. Some have never gotten over it. Childhood life-changers tend to stay with us. And the family, especially the parents, are the child’s universe. When you upset that you upset quite a bit.
6. Your last few novels have had important historical components in the storytelling. Some of the history of the famous Medici family is included in the novel. What was the most fascinating thing about the Medicis and how do your reconcile their infamous behavior with their unquestionable contribution to the world of art?
The Medici family both appalls and fascinates me. On the whole they were shrewd, conniving, opportunistic, unfaithful, vengeful, murdering rulers, who of all things, loved art and beauty. Michelangelo, DaVinci, Donatello, and so many other Italian Renaissance artists, wouldn’t have had patrons if it weren’t for the Medici family. They wouldn’t have the financial backing and opportunities to create all that they did. I don’t know if we would have the statue of David or Brunelleschi’s Dome or Botticelli’s Primavera were it not for the Medici family. They made Florencebeautiful and yet most of them were addicted to leading un-commendable lives. That is astounding to me. They weren’t — taken as a whole — admirable people, and yet look at the legacy of beauty they made possible. I like to think that demonstrates there is hope for all of us to be able to see beauty in spite of living with much disappointment. You don’t have to look hard to find ugliness on Earth, but beauty is there. Don’t close your eyes to it.
7. One of your point-of-view characters is a little known Medici family member named Nora Orsini. Tell us about her. Why did you choose her?
Nora Orsini was the daughter of Isabella de’Medici and the granddaughter of Cosimo I. In the Girl in the Glass, Nora’s short chapters precede every current-day chapter, as she tells her story on the eve of her arranged marriage. Very little is known about Nora Orsini, so I had the glorious freedom to speculate, which is the reason I chose her. I wanted the literary license to imagine beyond what history tells us. There is, however, plenty that is known about her mother, Isabella Medici. Nora did not lead the happiest of lives. I wanted to suppose that the beauty of her city offered solace to her, and that if it were indeed possible for Sofa, the tour guide that Meg meets, to hear Nora’s voice speaking to her from within the masterpieces, she would speak of how the beauty that surrounded her kept her from disappearing into bitterness.
Where can our listeners connect with you online or learn more about The Girl in the Glass, and your other books?
You can find me at www.susanmeissner.comand on Facebook at my Author page, Susan Meissner, and on Twitter at SusanMeissner. I blog at susanmeissner.blogspot.com. I also send out a newsletter via email four times a year. You can sign up for it on my website. I love connecting with readers! You are the reason I write.
September 14, 2012
Coming Soon: NAOMI'S CHRISTMAS
I'm so happy to announce that NAOMI'S CHRISTMAS, the next book in the Pleasant Valley series, will be out the first of October. You may have seen it listed as a November release, but it has now been moved up to October to allow more time for the Christmas title before the holidays. So I hope you'll look for it the first week in October!Naomi's Christmas is the story of Naomi Esch, whom you met working in the bakery if HANNAH'S JOY. Since her mother's death, Naomi has devoted herself to caring for her father and raising her siblings, sacrificing any hope of having a home and love of her own. Still, with her work at the bakery and her beekeeping business, Naomi looks forward to a fulfilling life now that her siblings are grown and out of the house. Then, in the weeks before Christmas, Naomi's father announces his plan to remarry. He and his new wife will want the house for themselves, and Naomi's life is turned upside down.
But new opportunities come her way as well. Widower Nathan King offers his farmland to Naomi to continue and expand her beekeeping business--on the condition that she care for his motherless children. The set-up is so perfect that the community assumes a wedding will inevitably follow. But Naomi has vowed never to marry without love, and that promise is especially poignant because she has always cared for Nathan, whose wife was her best friend. And Nathan can't imagine loving anyone else after losing his first love. Someone else opposes the match as well, someone who won't hesitate to blacken Naomi's reputation to keep her away from Nathan.
With everything stacked against them, it may take a Christmas miracle to unite these two stubborn hearts.
NAOMI'S CHRISTMAS also contains extras for readers: an article on Amish Christmas customs; a Pennsylvania Dutch Christmas craft to make; and a collection of my family's favorite Pennsylvania Dutch Christmas cookies.
