News!

Lots of stuff is happening, friends, out there in that world that involves people I love and think are awesome and stuff I love and all of that.

So.

Slugs and Bugs and Lullabies is the most adorable series of catchy kids songs that adults won't want to kill themselves when listening to. Some of the stuff is really funny, such as the "Camel Song", some is sweet, but when even I enjoy listening to it--can't be all bad right? They are working on the third album and it's Kickstarter backed project which means you can play an active role! Whee! (btw this is Christian music and while not every song is GOD LOVES YOU, it certainly has its place)

Also like EVERYONE I like is now making their CD on Kickstarter it's amazing.

Sara Groves has her new CD available for a limited time. I love her ridiculously, like RIDICULOUSLY. I downloaded the album last night but I haven't had a lot of time to listen to it, but she's the kind of artist that produces thoughtful, introspective, and challenging music. Her songs have been a lifeline to me at times and some of them are just so amazingly beautiful to me. Again, Christian music, so consider yourself forewarned. :)

The Hunger Games!!! movie released a short teaser which is essentially nothing and severely lacking in Peeta, but they haven't finished filming yet, so I was surprised they were releasing any footage at all! Check it out, though, and get excited.

Lenore interviewed herself for Dystopian August which you can read on her site. She talks about her influences for Level Two her own book coming out next year.

Courtney Summers announced her next book, This is Not a Test, is about zombies. Seriously I could not be more excited, imagine her intensity but with zombies! This book is gonna rock. Read all the details on her site.



Yes friends it's THAT time of year! I'm so excited. I've been reading faith driven fiction almost exclusively for months it will be nice to read the SPOOKY stuff. R.I.P. is Carl's annual challenge and still one of my favorite things about the book blogosphere. Read all the details and join in. There's all kinds of fun things happening with it this year.

Beth Kephart has received some of her first endorsements for Small Damages and wow.

So that's just some of the news in the world. What news should I know about?

Checking In

It's been a little quieter around here lately because this is the very busiest time of my blogging year. Book Blogger Appreciation Week, aka BBAW, is just around the corner and while it may not seem like a big deal, there are a thousand little details that need to be tended to, emails to be answered, links to be made, trying to make sure everything is staying on track and moving forward, and noting what can be done differently the next time around.

On top of that we are in the process of working towards a short list for the Inspys and I have stacks of books to read for that, while also making sure everything stays on track there. I definitely know things have to change in our processes for the INSPYs next year so trying to figure that out is a huge distraction for me as well. :)

I'm also admittedly lacking inspiration. There are a few posts sitting half finished in drafts and I can't seem to make them get any farther, and it's really not for lack of trying. There's a feature I've wanted to debut for awhile that lacks a name. Also, it's so hot.

I think this may be the longest dry spell I've ever gone through, but I'm not too worried. I know inspiration will return in some form at some point and until then, I just wanted to let you know that I'm still around, on Twitter, here, and reading your blogs.

Semper Fi (In Other Words: Have Some Heart, Rebecca) by Rebecca Rasmussen

The first time I walked off the course and back to the starting line I felt justified in my choice to quit. I was in terrible pain. I had lost my breath. I had cramps in my legs, in my heart. Girls were passing me on all sides. Their ponytails were swishing right out of my view. So here’s what I did: I simply walked back to the place I’d started.

The year was 1992, and I was a freshman in high school, thirteen years old. I had a shaky relationship with just about everyone in my family, though I remember my mother coming to this cross-country meet, my first. I remember she wore my dad’s boxy old yellow windbreaker, which I took from his closet the last time I visited him and my stepmom in Spring Green, Wisconsin, though I don’t remember why.

“You’ll do better next time,” my mother said, when she saw me near the starting line.

I’ll tell you this: a part of me wanted to get in the car with her. To stop and pick up pizza at Malnati’s on the way home. To rent a funny movie and eat sour cherry candies. To forget about cross-country and move on to field hockey or dance. Or chess even.

But I’ll also tell you this: an even bigger part of me wanted something else entirely, something I couldn’t put a name to, but knew as a secret deep in my heart. And that’s what I got—exactly what I wanted—that early Saturday morning in September, while girls sprinted into the chute and parents cheered and brightly colored ribbons flapped in the breeze.

“Come here right now,” my coach, Mr. Baker, said to me, in a voice I thought only parents were allowed to use.

“I think I’ll take her home,” my mother interrupted.

“Not yet,” Mr. Baker said and pulled me away from my mother, which I remember thinking was impressive. People didn’t say no to her.

When we were alone behind a grand old Illinois oak tree, Mr. Baker asked me why I’d stopped running, why I came walking back, why I gave up.
I told him what I told you. Cramps. Pain. Breath.

“I don’t care if you’re the last girl out there and you crawl in on your hands and knees,” Mr. Baker said. “You don’t ever give up like that, do you understand me?”

“I couldn’t go on,” I said, looking at the electric leaves up in the tree.

Mr. Baker put his hands squarely on my shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes, which nobody had ever done before. (I come from a long line of side-glancers.)

“You can always go on,” he said very seriously.

I don’t know why, but I wanted to wrap my arms around this man. His strength and strange, unwarranted belief in me was what I’d been looking for in members of my family and what members of my family couldn’t give me just then, and here Mr. Baker was, a man I barely knew, a man with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
“I wasn’t going to win,” I said, knowing then that that was the real reason I’d quit.
Mr. Baker smiled. “This is the first brave thing I’ve seen you do.”

“What?” I said, beginning to smile, too, though I didn’t know why.

“Tell the truth,” he said, and hugged me so securely I thought I’d turn blue. “You’re a good kid, you know. I think you’re going to be all right.”
(Words that were so wonderful I started to cry.)
***
I don’t know if you can teach someone to have heart or not, but that’s what Mr. Baker did for me that day and that strength of heart is what I’ve carried with me all these years. If a door closes, I find another one to try to open. If ponytails are passing me, I go after them instead of giving myself over to negativity and turning away.

Crossing the finish line, having guts and grit, is what’s important to me. Knowing that I didn’t quit—that I don’t quit—makes me proud, confident, happy.

These days, I’m a writer more than I’m a runner, though I still try to hit the pavement four or five times a week. Writing, I’ve learned, takes the same tenacity, the same hard work and hard-won belief in one’s self. I’ve seen so many talented writers give up, and I want to grab them by the shoulders and look directly in their eyes and tell them what Mr. Baker told me. Keep writing even if you have to crawl on your hands and knees.

My first novel is coming out with a large New York press in April. From the outside, my story looks so easy and breezy and, well, full of beauty. The truth is that I fought for my book every single step of the way. I fought for it when people kept saying no for months and months and months. I fought when they said, “we need to think about sales figures.”
I am fighting for it even now.

And you know what: it probably won’t sell a million copies, I probably won’t be able to quit my job and shop at Whole Foods for herbs and nuts and fish, and I probably won’t wake up and see my name in The New York Times any time soon.

But on April 12th, I’ll be smiling. I promise you that.
Writing a book, finding an agent and an editor, finding my way through all of the no, you can’ts! has been the longest race of my life and I’ll have finally made it to the chute—without fanfare, maybe—but on my own two feet.
(A thought so wonderful I know I will cry.)
***
I haven’t seen Mr. Baker since I was a senior in high school. Is he alive? Is he still coaching running? I don’t know.
That warm September day at the cross-country meet was the beginning of a relationship that changed my life. He taught me about being brave, about being bold, about fighting for what you want and deserve in life. He taught me about nourishing myself in every sense of the word.
He told me about his time in Vietnam, about never giving up even when people around him were dying in muddy rice paddies.
I’ll never forget what he said.
Right before the next cross-country race, Mr. Baker and I exchanged presents, if you can call them that. I gave him my father’s old yellow windbreaker, which he wore to most every meet for the next four years, and he gave me a Semper Fi flag he’d had since the war and which I still keep in my treasure box in the closet.
Whenever I find myself alone on the course now, in the middle of a race that’s even less defined than when I was a teenager, I think of Mr. Baker—those blue eyes and that flag—and I keep going.
I keep hearing him say, have some heart, Rebecca.

Rebecca Rasmussen is the author of the novel The Bird Sisters, available from Crown Publishers on April 12th, 2011. Visit her at http://www.thebirdsisters.com

(Rebecca sent this to me ages ago to post and I just realized I never posted it, despite how much I loved it. I hope you enjoy it now and my apologies to the lovely Ms. Rasmussen)

Faith and Fiction Saturday: Let's Talk Romance

For awhile, probably most of my teen years into my early twenties, I read classics and Christian fiction. The majority of the contemporary fiction I read was Christian fiction and the majority of Christian fiction is romance. In fact, I realized when I branched out later in life that I thought about books and series according to the romance formula and I was surprised when things were different.

For whatever reason, Christian romance is very popular and I think a lot of it might be because conservative Christian women are uncomfortable reading explicit sex scenes and Christian romance provides an alternative. I prefer Christian romance for this reason. Additionally, the books often focus on a lot of spiritual growth for the characters and the relationship takes more of a center stage than the physical attraction. Of course there is physical attraction! but it's not dwelt upon as much. While other things may frustrate me about Christian romance at times, such as a focus on traditional gender roles--I really love it for the most part, and find it to be very satisfying to read.

In the past few months, however, I've seen a few arguments being made against Christian romance, by fellow Christians--usually men, which frustrate me a lot. The main point of the argument is that romance is for women like pornography is for men--a kind of wish fulfillment that sets up women's expectations so high for their husband and he can never possibly match what the books have laid out for them to expect.

I'm not an expert on this subject and I'm pretty sure there are a lot of other people who could take this argument apart better than I can. But my problem with this discussion is how much it broadbrushes the Christian romance genre and women in general.

I often find reading romance to be a transcendent experience...I go on a journey with the characters--I root for them, and hope for them, and I'm happy when they find their happiness. Sometimes I can find hope in the pages, or I can just enjoy the lovely writing, or even just the quick trip into a different world.

I'm single and happy about it, but I still enjoy reading love stories and I don't think they make it impossible for me to see the real world at all. Sure romance books may not tell realistic stories...they tell a story in a heightened reality, but the most important thing is that they feel emotionally true.

Having said that, I always think these things come down the individual person. If you're using reading to continually escape from the real world than you may have a problem and if you're motivated then you might want to consider doing something about it. But the same can be said of TV, movies, games, and various other things. The good thing about Christian romance is that it might surprise you and not let you escape reality but hitting you with truth in unexpected places

What are your feelings on Christian romance and romance in general?

Review: The Fences Between Us by Kirby Larson (Dear America: The Diary of Piper Davis)

The Dear America series published by Scholastic is a series of historical fiction books that imagine a diary of young girl during an important event in US History. I had never read them before, but I know my nieces really enjoy them. I had reason to pick up The Fences Between Us and I was looking forward to it because it's the diary of young pastor's daughter during World War II. Her father is the pastor of a Japanese Church so when Pearl Harbor is attacked the situation for their congregation becomes tense. To further add to their stress, Piper's older brother has enlisted in the Navy and they are always worrying about his safety.

I loved this book. I have to admit that this period in history intrigues me..it always shocks me and surprises me how awful my country was to the Japanese American citizens and I feel like I can never read enough stories about it. I feel like it does get swept under the rug when we talk about World War II history..it's so much easier to talk about evil Hitler and the concentration camps and to forget that our own internment camps were a paler less severe version.

But even more than that I loved Piper's voice...she was a normal teenage girl in many ways dating and feeling jealous of her friends, and being worried for her family and resenting being a PK. :) But she has such a huge heart and her father is just amazing (♥♥♥) and his loyalty and love for his congregation sets a hard but good example for Piper. As the situation continues to grow more severe for their Japanese friends, they end up making a huge life transition to stand by their friends.

Perhaps because of the first person diary narrative the story is filled with that immediate tension of not knowing what is happening, rations becoming more severe, laws passing to further segregate the Japanese from their families...it's a great read. And the cast of characters all feel real and well defined for such a short book.

And I'm not going to lie to you, this book made me teary in all the right ways. Piper's world felt so real to me and when it was over, I was sorry to leave it behind.

I think this book is technically middle grade. And I absolutely loved it. Don't you love ageless stories?

Rating: 4.75/5
Source of Book: Received for Review
Publisher: Scholastic

Or We Could Tell A Different Kind of Story

Yesterday I read some news that there were early negotiations being done to adapt The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell into a possible CW show. Naturally this got my attention--I love the CW and already with the new president I can feel the programming targeted towards women 18-34 slipping through my fingers. The Carrie Diaries is a prequel to Sex and the City..so essentially it's all about milking a well known success for more, but I love the idea of it anyway. Girls! In New York! Growing up! Sounds like my sort of show, let's not kid ourselves.

So as I was reading the various reporting on this..not even a deal yet, I came across this piece on Zap2It where Carina Adley Mackenzie questions why such a show is being considered. The crux of her argument is that the endgame of Carrie is already known so why would anyone bother to invest in her story. I have to admit it made me really sad, because at the end of the day, Carrie has a story and she had a love story at a younger age yet the character of Carrie should rise above and be more than that love story.

Yes, it's true that on teen soaps there's a lot of "shipping" and investment in the idea of rooting for one couple throughout the series. But maybe...maybe The Carrie Diaries which admittedly I haven't read (but we all know the books will be deviated from), can be more about Carrie than about Carrie and...said guy. I still find love stories valuable and worth the telling even if the couple doesn't end up together. And really, all the writers need to do is a turn deaf ear to the fandom and write a story about a young woman trying to make it on her own, navigating love and life, etc.

Compelling writing and good acting can sell any story. Why not put a show on the air where a female character is allowed to have multiple love interests but none of them define her? Endgame is never ever as satisfying as you think it's going to be anyway, maybe it's better to just relax and enjoy the journey.

CFBA Book Spotlight: Dancing on Glass by Pamela Ewen

I will have a review of this one soon.

About the Book:In the steamy city of New Orleans in 1974, Amalise Catoir sees Phillip Sharp as a charming, magnetic artist, unlike any man she has known. A young lawyer herself, raised in a small town and on the brink of a career with a large firm, she is strong and successful, yet sometimes too trusting and whimsical. Ama's rash decision to marry Phillip proves to be a mistake as he becomes overly possessive, drawing his wife away from family, friends, and her faith. His insidious, dangerous behavior becomes her dark, inescapable secret.

In this lawyer's unraveling world, can grace survive Ama's fatal choice? What would you do when prayers seem to go unanswered, faith has slipped away, evil stalks, and you feel yourself forever dancing on shattered glass?

The Inspy Awards Needs Judges!

If you are a Christian with a love for faith driven literature and have time to devote to reading five books this fall for the INSPY Awards we need you!

The INSPYS are blogger awards so we need bloggers who review books to take the next round! You could be part of choosing the next INSPY winner!

Criteria
Be a blogger
Provide a sample book review in the application
Agree to our statement of faith
Be responsible to obtain their own copies of the books they are judging
Agree to read all five of the short listed books and turn their decision in by the deadline of December 10th.

The INSPY categories are
General Fiction
Literature for Young People
Romance
Creative Nonfiction
Speculative Fiction
Mystery & Thriller

Please go visit the INSPY site and sign up now if this is of interest to you.

Guest Post: Nice to Meet You; We're the Artless Dodges Press by Tom Maven

You know the joke: six writers, one designer, and a couple of their supportive friends walk into a bar in Cleveland. They each order a drink and after the bartender brings them he says, “Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but notice that you all look really, really depressed.” The writers and the designer reply, “We’re artists. All we have is our art, but nobody can be bothered to even consider it.” The bartender says, “Oh,” and looks around nervously. The supportive friends say, “Don’t worry, we’re paying.”

For several years out of college, that joke was our lives. We were writing and re-writing, critiquing each others‘ work, keeping pieces in the mail. Despite these efforts and a few small success, however, we weren’t getting anywhere: none of our novels were getting picked up, hardly any of our stories were selling, and the ones that were weren’t selling anywhere worth mentioning. We had no illusions that the path we’d chosen would be easy, or that success would come beating down our door. We knew that trying to hack it as writers meant years of rejection and plenty of disappointment. Even still, we found ourselves needled by a persistent and growing suspicion that the pieces we sent were being returned unread, weren’t even being considered: that we were being dismissed out of hand. Maybe it was just frustrated paranoia, but we couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some other game going on behind the closed doors at those magazines and publishing houses, some secret handshake we didn’t know, some password we hadn’t said.

This is not a paranoid diatribe about some suspected shadow conspiracy; it’s not even a self-glorifying rant about how unappreciated we are, or how much the publishing world owes us. It is, however, a small potshot against the myth that hard work will bring success, that quality will bring acclaim, that people get what they deserve. The fact of the matter is, there is another game going on behind those closed doors: for us, the focus is and always has been on the work, the words, the quality of the prose; we’d spent so much time talking about the work, in fact, that we naively failed to recognize the obvious fact that the publishing industry is an industry-focused agency that deals in fiction and not, as we all thought (without quite really realizing it), a fiction-focused agency dealing in industry. We thought that being a writer meant writing, and thought that good fiction would get - in fact, deserved to get - recognized. We held this belief so thoroughly that we didn’t see that artistry is beside the point: that these institutions only publish what is going to make them money. And ninety-nine times out of one hundred that means television tie-ins and pop teen lit, means hot-button genre fiction and Oprah-friendly “serious” fiction.

So where did that leave us? The stuff we were writing didn’t fit any of those marketing blocks. We found ourselves asking questions like, how did Camus’ publisher market The Stranger? How did Milan Kundera first get noticed? It seemed to us that the kind of philosophically-driven, existential and literary fiction we were writing might simply be out of place in a market dominated by Harry Potter and the Twilight saga, by Dan Brown and Nora Roberts. Maybe there was no way to pitch a Kafka-esque travelogue to a publisher or agent hoping to represent the next Stephen King. We were more than ever losing faith in the prospect of ever getting anywhere. More than that, we were all going broke.

Faced with the situation as we saw it, it seemed to us that we had three choices: we could 1) change our style, our focus and our aesthetic, and write what we could pitch, 2) give up writing, or 3) we could just goddamned do it ourselves.

It’s not a new idea: punk bands have been doing it since the 70s, promoting shows in basements with homemade flyers, recording demos on their own equipment, selling tapes and LPs out of the trunks of their cars. Now there are digital means to achieve the same ends, both for music and for fiction, but the idea is the same. The punk DIY ethos holds that no one is going to do it for you, that you can’t expect them to, that if you want something done for yourself then you should do it yourself, and not wait for permission or support from the powers that be. We knew that we could bang our heads against the same walls for the next decade and end up back in the same bar, with our novels in our desk drawers and with the same supportive friends buying our drinks and the same gloomy outlook. We’d had enough of that.

This isn’t about trying to jump ahead, to get away with not paying your dues. This is about refusing to play a game with one set of perceived rules and another set of actual rules, about a publishing industry more and more defined not by the search for quality but rather by the search for marketability. This is about the belief that good writing will find readers, and that readers will seek out good writing. And it’s about standing on your own feet and trying to do something. So this is us saying it’s nice to meet you, we’re The Artless Dodges Press. Since 2009 we’ve been bringing you some of the best that Cleveland has to offer. Please visit us online, check out our titles, read an excerpt. We promise that what we have to offer is unlike anything you’ll find anywhere else.

The Vampire Diaries Season 3 Promo

I'm looking forward to fall TV this year including the return of The Vampire Diaries of course!

The show finally comes back on September 15th and The Secret Circle will be premiering right after it.

I will try to be recapping both shows but who knows. Anyway here's the preview for the third season of The Vampire Diaries...Stefan looks like he's gone evil and it looks like things speed up between Tyler and Caroline. Will you be watching?

Faith and Fiction Saturday Round Table: Small Town Sinners by Melissa Walker

The most recent read for the Faith and Fiction Round Table was Small Town Sinners by Melissa Walker which is the story of Lacey Byer a young conservative evangelical teen growing up in a small town. Every year her church puts on a Hell House and this year Lacey is forced to confront some questions about the things she's always believed.

In some ways I could really identify with Lacey's story. I am also a pastor's daughter who grew up in a fairly conservative evangelical family. I started to question my faith much earlier than Lacey did--I think I had the benefit of living in a city and going to a public school where I was constantly confronted with different ideas. Most of my best friends weren't believers...even so I think it took years for me to actually come around to realizing I didn't have to have all the answers.

Living with questions can be really hard and I understand why it's really unattractive for some people. At the end of the day, I sometimes think we're just wired differently. The confines of black and white can lead to despair for some people, while the grey areas are harder for others.

One thing that has held true throughout my life is my belief in God, though. Even when I don't know exactly the shape He takes or the best way to love him in every situation, I have never known how not to see the world with God.

Other Participants:
Book Addiction, Books and Movies, The Ignorant Historian, My Random Thoughts, The 3rs Blog, TinasBookreviews

Knowing the Story

Have you ever noticed when you go to the movies and they show trailers that the trailer often gives away the entire plot of the film? Within just a few minutes you can experience the full emotional scope of the story and have a good idea of how it will turn out. In some ways it feels like you don't even have to go see the movie for yourself later, you already know what it's about and how it likely ends.

This has always annoyed me a little, but then I read somewhere that most Americans prefer this...they want to know their time will be invested well in the film, therefore they want to see the story in the trailer. They want to know how things will turn out.

Yesterday Jen shared this article on tumblr that was simliar in idea, a study about whether or not people prefer spoilers before reading a story. The results of the study so far indicate that yes they do.

To be honest, this makes a lot of sense to me. Life itself is so unpredictable and we don't know how it's going to turn out. Curveballs are often thrown our way that knock us off whatever course we set for ourselves. We have no control over it and that makes it difficult sometimes to simply relax and appreciate the moment we are in. Why would we want that same stress in stories? If we know how a story will turn out, we can relax and enjoy it, noting the strength of the craft or the clever way its told instead.

I am sometimes guilty of wanting spoilers. Most often for TV shows I watch when I'm worried a character I love will be killed off or I'm hoping a couple I enjoy will get together. But mostly I like to go along for the ride and enjoy the discovery. There have been so many times I was spoiled accidentally and I regret not experiencing the story the way the author intended. I can't stand them when it comes to books, it's the main reason I skim most reviews.

How about you? How do you feel about spoilers?

CFBA: A Most Unsuitable Match by Stephanie Grace Whitson

About the Book: An unlikely attraction occurs between two passengers on a steamboat journey up the Missouri River to Montana...

She is a self-centered young woman from a privileged family who fears the outdoors and avoids anything rustic. He is a preacher living under a sense of duty and obligation to love the unlovable people in the world. She isn't letting anything deter her from solving a family mystery that surfaced after her mother's death. He is on a mission to reach the rejects of society in the remote wilderness regions of Montana. Miss Fannie Rousseau and Reverend Samuel Beck are opposites in every way... except in how they both keep wondering if their paths will ever cross again

FIRST: The One Who Waits for Me by Lori Copeland

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!



You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Lori Copeland

and the book:

The One Who Waits for Me

Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)

***Special thanks to Karri James, Marketing Assistant, Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Lori Copeland is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books' Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, and their three children and five grandchildren.



Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

This new series from bestselling author Lori Copeland, set in North Carolina three months after the Civil War ends, illuminates the gift of hope even in chaos, as the lives of six engaging characters intersect and unfold with the possibility of faith, love, and God’s promise of a future.













Product Details:



List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 320 pages

Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0736930183

ISBN-13: 978-0736930185





AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Joanie?”



Beth’s sister stirred, coughing.



Beth gently shook Joanie’s shoulder again, and the young woman opened her eyes, confusion shining in their depths.



“Pa?”



“He passed a few minutes ago. Trella will be waiting for us.”



Joanie lifted her wrist to her mouth and smothered sudden sobbing. “I’m scared, Beth.”



“So am I. Dress quickly.”



The young woman slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the dirt-packed floor. Outside, the familiar sound of pond frogs nearly drowned out soft movements, though there was no need to be silent any more. Ma had preceded Pa in death two days ago. Beth and Joanie had been waiting, praying for the hour of Pa’s death to come swiftly. Together, they lifted their father’s silent form and gently carried him out the front door. He was a slight man, easy to carry. Beth’s heart broke as they took him to the shallow grave they had dug the day before. Ma’s fever had taken her swiftly. Pa had held on for as long as he could. Beth could still hear his voice in her ear: “Take care of your sister, little Beth.” He didn’t have to remind her that there was no protection at all now to save either of them from Uncle Walt and his son, Bear. Beth had known all of her life that one day she and Joanie would have to escape this place—a place of misery.



It was her father’s stubborn act that started the situation Beth and Joanie were immersed in. Pa had hid the plantation deed from his brother and refused to tell him where it was. Their land had belonged to a Jornigan for two hundred years, but Walt claimed that because he was the older brother and allowed Pa to live on his land the deed belonged to him. Pa was a proud man and had no respect for his brother, though his family depended on Walt for a roof over their heads and food on their table. For meager wages they worked Walt’s fields, picked his cotton, and suffered his tyranny along with the other workers. Pa took the location of the hidden deed to his grave—almost. Walt probably figured Beth knew where it was because Pa always favored her. And she did, but she would die before she shared the location with her vile uncle.



By the light of the waning moon the women made short work of placing the corpse in the grave and then filling the hole with dirt. Finished, they stood back and Joanie bowed her head in prayer. “Dear Father, thank You for taking Ma and Pa away from this world. I know they’re with You now, and I promise we won’t cry.” Hot tears streaming down both women’s cheeks belied her words.



Returning to the shanty, Joanie removed her nightshirt and put on boy’s clothes. Dressed in similar denim trousers and a dark shirt, Beth turned and picked up the oil lamp and poured the liquid carefully around the one-room shanty. Yesterday she had packed Ma’s best dishes and quilts and dragged them to the root cellar. It was useless effort. She would never be back here, but she couldn’t bear the thought of fire consuming Ma’s few pretty things. She glanced over her shoulder when the stench of fuel heightened Joanie’s cough. The struggle to breathe had been a constant companion since her younger sister’s birth.



Many nights Beth lay tense and fearful, certain that come light Joanie would be gone. Now that Ma and Pa were dead, Joanie was the one thing left on this earth that held meaning for Beth. She put down the lamp on the table. Walking over to Joanie, she buttoned the last button on her sister’s shirt and tugged her hat brim lower.



“Do you have everything?”



“Yes.”



“Then go outside and wait.”



Nodding, Joanie paused briefly beside the bed where Pa’s tall frame had been earlier. She hesitantly reached out and touched the empty spot. “May you rest in peace, Pa.”



Moonlight shone through the one glass pane facing the south. Beth shook her head. “He was a good man. It’s hard to believe Uncle Walt had the same mother and father.”



Joanie’s breath caught. “Pa was so good and Walt is so…evil.”



“If it were up to me, he would be lying in that grave outside the window, not Pa.”



Beth tried to recall one single time in her life when Walt Jornigan had ever shown an ounce of mercy to anyone. Certainly not to his wife when she was alive. Certainly not to Beth or Joanie. If Joanie was right and there was a God, what would Walt say when he faced Him? She shook the thought aside. She had no compassion for the man or reverence for the God her sister believed in and worshipped.



“We have to go now, Joanie.”



“Yes.” She picked up her Bible from the little table beside the rocking chair and then followed Beth outside the shanty, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Pausing, Joanie bent and succumbed to a coughing spasm. Beth helplessly waited, hoping her sister could make the anticipated trip through the cotton fields. The women had planned for days now to escape if Ma and Pa both passed.



Beth asked gently, “Can you do this?”



Joanie held up a restraining hand. “Just need…a minute.”



Beth wasn’t certain that they could wait long; time was short. Dawn would be breaking soon, and then Walt would discover that Pa had died and the sisters were missing. But they had to leave. Joanie’s asthma was getting worse. Each gasping breath left her drained and hopeless, and Walt refused to let her see a doctor.



When Joanie had mentioned the notice in a discarded Savannah newspaper advertising a piece of land, Beth knew she had to buy the property and provide a home for Joanie. Pa had allowed her and Joanie to keep the wage Uncle Walt paid monthly. Over the years they had saved enough to survive, and the owner was practically giving the small acreage away. They wouldn’t be able to build a permanent structure on their land until she found work, but she and Joanie would own their own place where no one could control them. Beth planned to eventually buy a cow and a few setting hens. At first they could live in a tent—Beth’s eyes roamed the small shanty. It would be better than how they lived now.



Joanie’s spasm passed and she glanced up. “Okay. You…can do it now.”



Beth struck a match.



She glanced at Joanie. The young woman nodded and clutched her Bible to her chest. Beth had found it in one of the cotton picker’s beds after he had moved on and given it to Joanie. Her sister had kept the Bible hidden from sight for fear that Walt would spot it on one of his weekly visits. Beth had known, as Joanie had, that if their uncle had found it he’d have had extra reason to hand out his daily lashing. Joanie kept the deed to their new land between its pages.



After pitching the lighted match into the cabin, Beth quickly closed the heavy door. Stepping to the window, she watched the puddles of kerosene ignite one by one. In just minutes flames were licking the walls and gobbling up the dry tinder. A peculiar sense of relief came over her when she saw tendrils of fire racing through the room, latching onto the front curtain and encompassing the bed.



“Don’t watch.” Joanie slipped her hand into Beth’s. “We have to hurry before Uncle Walt spots the flames.”



Hand in hand, the sisters stepped off the porch, and Beth turned to the mounds of fresh dirt heaped not far from the shanty. Pausing before the fresh graves, she whispered. “I love you both. Rest in peace.”



Joanie had her own goodbyes for their mother. “We don’t want to leave you and Pa here alone, but I know you understand—”



As the flames licked higher, Beth said, “We have to go, Joanie. Don’t look back.”



“I won’t.” Her small hand quivered inside Beth’s. “God has something better for us.”



Beth didn’t answer. She didn’t know whether Ma and Pa were in a good place or not. She didn’t know anything about such things. She just knew they had to run.



The two women dressed in men’s clothing struck off across the cotton fields carrying everything they owned in a small bag. It wasn’t much. A dress for each, clean underclothes, and their nightshirts. Beth had a hairbrush one of the pickers had left behind. She’d kept the treasure well hidden so Walt wouldn’t see it. He’d have taken it from her. He didn’t hold with primping—said combing tangles from one’s hair was a vain act. Finger-picking river-washed hair was all a woman needed.



Fire now raced inside the cabin. By the time Uncle Walt noticed the smoke from the plantation house across the fields, the two sisters would be long gone. No longer would they be under the tyrannical thumb of Walt or Bear Jornigan.



Freedom.



Beth sniffed the night air, thinking she could smell the precious state. Never again would she or Joanie answer to any man. She would run hard and far and find help for Joanie so that she could finally breathe free. In her pocket she fingered the remaining bills she’d taken from the fruit jar in the cabinet. It was all the ready cash Pa and Ma had. They wouldn’t be needing money where they were.



Suddenly there was a sound of a large explosion. Heavy black smoke blanketed the night air. Then another blast.



Kerosene! She’d forgotten the small barrel sitting just outside the back porch.



It was the last sound Beth heard.

CFBA Book Spotlight: The Hardest Thing by Penelope Wilcock

About the Book: This latest in Wilcock’s The Hawk and the Dove series takes readers into the world of a fourteenth-century monastery struggling to forgive an old enemy seeking refuge.

The first of three sequels to the celebrated The Hawk and the Dove trilogy takes place one year after the end of the third book, in the early fourteenth century. A peaceful monastery is enjoying its new abbot, who is taking the place of Father Peregrine, when an old enemy arrives seeking refuge. Reluctantly taking in Prior William, the upended community must address old fears and bitterness while warily seeking reconciliation. But can they really trust Prior William?

In her fourth book in the series, Penelope Wilcock wrestles with the difficulties of forgiveness and the cautions of building trust. Taking the form of journal entries, her story will delight the imaginations of readers captivated by a time and place far distant from our current world. Her timeless themes, however, will challenge our prejudices today as we, along with her characters, are forced to ask ourselves, “What is the hardest thing to do?”

Review: Martha by Diana Wallis Taylor

One of the most interesting Biblical stories that gets used in every women's Bible study ever, is the story of Mary and Martha. Mary eagerly listened at Jesus's feet and Martha worked to make a nice meal and when she asked why Jesus didn't tell Mary to help her, He told her that Mary chose what was better. It's the kind of story that is both wonderful and frustrating, because it's wonderful that Jesus reminds us of what's important but frustrating because you know exactly how Martha feels.

So I was really interested in a reading a fictional account of the life of Martha, a woman who was close to Jesus in many ways and witness firsthand so many important events in his ministry. I also thought exploration of the relationship between Mary and Martha would be interesting as well as how they felt seeing Lazarus be raised from the dead and more.

Martha is actually pretty short and ends up focusing on the life and ministry of Jesus. It's heavily plot focused to I didn't get the kind of character study that I had hoped for. I also felt like the author took the easy way out in regards to thinks like Judas...Martha always felt uneasy around him, etc. It's not that I didn't enjoy the book, it was fine, but I kept wishing it was something else a little deeper.

I did love the portrayal of Jesus. No matter where I go or what happens in my life, the person of Jesus always draws me in. I love him.

Rating: 3/5
Things You Might Want to Know: Christian fiction
Source of Book: Received from publisher for review
Publisher: Revell books

Review and Giveaway: Forever by Maggie Stiefvater

I loved the first two books in Maggie Stiefvater's Wolves of Mercy Falls series and was eagerly anticipating Forever and seeing what sort of conclusion Sam and Grace would find in this book. Stiefvater created a really unique tale about wolves, a more believable "werewolf" story in many ways and she does an excellent job of evoking the feeling of winter and it's crushing weight on the characters. I was really pleased with Forever, but perhaps for different reasons than I originally expected. If you haven't read the first two books you will be spoiled for them in this review.

So Linger left off with Grace having to switch to wolf in order to live. The books are heavy with this kind of tragedy, the first book there's worry Sam will switch permanently to wolf and in the second that Grace will die. But what could be worse than finding a cure for werewolf problem and having the person you most wanted to be cured for end up having the same problem? So when Forever starts, Grace is just beginning to come back to human form, the town still really wants to hunt the wolves, Cole is searching for a cure, and Sam is trying to defeat the demons of his past.

Admittedly, I found the story lagging in parts. And the central conflict didn't have enough urgency for me. So while I find these to be the flaws of this book, the characterization was so excellent I didn't care. Sam especially felt so incredibly real to me throughout the book, like a real person. And the writing is achingly beautiful and so precise and true in parts it's hard to believe you're holding in your hands a book that will be dismissed by many as YA Paranormal Romance. As I was reading Forever, I realized I read it for a love of Sam, it's always his POV that I looked forward to most and his perspective that I enjoy. I also love Sam and Grace's relationship, even if the forever nature of it feels a little shocking to my YA sensibilities.

I will caution that the ending will probably not be satisfying to all, but if you read the first two books in this series and loved the characters, you'll want to read this one as well. It's hard for me to even think of this as wolf book, there's so much goodness about life and the nature of relationships to be found within the pages. Also, lots of romance.

Rating: 4.5/5
Things You Might Want to Know: profanity
Source of Book: Review copy
Publisher: Scholastic Press



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FIRST: Restless in Carolina by Tamara Leigh

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Tamara Leigh

and the book:

Restless in Carolina

Multnomah Books (July 19, 2011)

***Special thanks to Ashley Boyer, Publicist, WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Tamara Leigh began her writing career in 1994 and is the best-selling author of fourteen novels, including Splitting Harriet (ACFW Book of the Year winner and RITA Award finalist), Faking Grace (RITA Award Finalist), and Leaving Carolina. A former speech and language pathologist, Tamara enjoys time with her family, faux painting, and reading. She lives with her husband and sons in Tennessee.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Tree-huggin’, animal-lovin’ Bridget Pickwick-Buchanan is on a mission. Well, two. First she has to come to terms with being a widow at thirty-three. After all, it’s been four years and even her five-year-old niece and nephew think it’s time she shed her widow’s weeds. Second, she needs to find a buyer for her family’s estate—a Biltmore-inspired mansion surrounded by hundreds of acres of unspoiled forestland. With family obligations forcing the sale, Bridget is determined to find an eco-friendly developer to buy the land, someone who won’t turn it into single-family homes or a cheesy theme park.

Enter J. C. Dirk, a high-energy developer from Atlanta whose green property developments have earned him national acclaim. When he doesn’t return her calls, Bridget decides a personal visit is in order. Unfortunately, J. C. Dirk is neither amused nor interested when she interrupts his meeting—until she mentions her family name. In short order, he finds himself in North Carolina, and Bridget has her white knight—in more ways than one. But there are things Bridget doesn’t know about J. C., and it could mean the end of everything she’s worked for…and break her heart.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 352 pages
Publisher: Multnomah Books (July 19, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1601421680
ISBN-13: 978-1601421685

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Deep breath. “…and they lived…”

I can do this. It’s not as if I didn’t sense it coming. After all, I can smell an H.E.A. (Happily Ever After) a mile away—or, in this case, twenty-four pages glued between cardboard covers that feature the requisite princess surrounded by cute woodland creatures. And there are the words, right where I knew the cliché of an author would slap them, on the last page in the same font as those preceding them. Deceptively nondescript. Recklessly hopeful. Heartbreakingly false.

“Aunt Bridge,” Birdie chirps, “finish it.”

I look up from the once-upon-a-time crisp page that has been softened, creased, and stained by the obsessive readings in which hermother indulges her.

Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, my niece nods. “Say the magic words.” Magic?

More nodding, and is she quivering? Oh no, I refuse to be a party to this. I smile big, say, “The end,” and close the book. “So, how about another piece of weddin’ cake?”

“No!” She jumps off the footstool she earlier dubbed her “princess throne,” snatches the book from my hand, and opens it to the back. “Wight here!”

I almost correct her initial r-turned-w but according tomy sister, it’s developmental and the sound is coming in fine on its own, just as her other r’s did.

Birdie jabs the H, E, and A. “It’s not the end until you say the magic words.”

And I thought this the lesser of two evils—entertaining my niece and nephew as opposed to standing around at the reception as the bride and groom are toasted by all the happy couples, among them, cousin Piper, soon to be wed to my friend Axel, and cousin Maggie, maybe soon to be engaged to her sculptor man, what’s-his-name.

“Yeah,” Birdie’s twin,Miles, calls from where he’s once more hanging upside down on the rolling ladder I’ve pulled him off twice. “You gotta say the magic words.”

Outrageous! Even my dirt-between-the-toes, scab-ridden, snot-on-the-sleeve nephew is buying into the fantasy.

I spring from the armchair, cross the library, and unhook his ankles from the rung. “You keep doin’ that and you’ll bust your head wide open.” I set him on his feet. “And your mama will—

”No, Bonnie won’t.

“Well, she’ll be tempted to give you a whoopin’.”

Face bright with upside-down color, he glowers.

I’d glower back if I weren’t so grateful for the distraction he provided. “All right, then.” I slap at the ridiculously stiff skirt of the dress Maggie loaned me for my brother’s wedding. “Let’s rejoin the party—”

“You don’t wanna say it.”Miles sets his little legs wide apart. “Do ya?” So much for my distraction.

“You don’t like Birdie’s stories ’cause they have happy endings. And you don’t.”

I clench my toes in the painfully snug high heels on loan from Piper.

“Yep.”Miles punches his fists to his hips. “Even Mama says so.”

My own sister? I shake my head, causing the blond dreads Maggie pulled away from my face with a headband to sweep my back. “That’s not true.”

“Then say it wight now!” Birdie demands.

I peer over my shoulder at where she stands like an angry tin soldier, an arm outthrust, the book extended.

“Admit it,”Miles singsongs.

I snap around and catch my breath at the superior, knowing look on his five-year-old face. He’s his father’s son, all right, a miniature Professor Claude de Feuilles, child development expert.

“You’re not happy.” The professor in training, who looks anything but with his spiked hair, nods.

I know better than to bristle with two cranky, nap-deprived children, but that’s what I’m doing. Feeling as if I’m watching myself from the other side of the room, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll admit no such thing.”

“That’s ’cause you’re afraid. Mama said so.” Miles peers past me.

“Didn’t she, Birdie?”

Why is Bonnie discussing my personal life with her barely-out-of-diapers kids?

“Uh-huh. She said so.”

Miles’s smile is smug. “On the drive here, Mama told Daddy this day would be hard on you. That you wouldn’t be happy for Uncle Bart ’cause you’re not happy.”

Not true! Not that I’m thrilled with our brother’s choice of bride, but…come on! Trinity Templeton? Nice enough, but she isn’t operating on a full charge, which wouldn’t be so bad if Bart made up for the difference. Far from it, his past history with illegal stimulants having stripped him of a few billion brain cells.

“She said your heart is”—Miles scrunches his nose, as if assailed by a terrible odor—“constipated.”

What?!

“That you need an M&M, and I don’t think she meant the chocolate kind you eat. Probably one of those—”

“I am not constipated.” Pull back. Nice and easy. I try to heed my inner voice but find myself leaning down and saying, “I’m realistic.”

Birdie stomps the hardwood floor. “Say the magic words!”

“Nope.”Miles shakes his head. “Constipated.”

I shift my cramped jaw. “Re-al-is-tic.”

“Con-sti-pa-ted.”

Pull back, I tell you! He’s five years old. “Just because I don’t believe in fooling a naive little girl into thinkin’ a prince is waiting for her at the other end of childhood and will save her from a fate worse than death and take her to his castle and they’ll live…” I flap a hand. “…you know, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.”

Isn’t there? “It means I know better. There may be a prince, and he may have a castle, and they may be happy, but don’t count on it lasting. Oh no. He’ll get bored or caught up in work or start cheatin’—you know, decide to put that glass slipper on some other damsel’s foot or kiss another sleeping beauty—or he’ll just up and die like Easton—” No,
nothing at all wrong with you, Bridget Pickwick Buchanan, whose ugly widow’s weeds are showing.

“See!”Miles wags a finger.

Unfortunately, I do. And as I straighten, I hear sniffles.

“Now you done it!” Miles hustles past me. “Got Birdie upset.”

Sure enough, she’s staring at me with flooded eyes. “The prince dies? He dies and leaves the princess all alone?”The book falls from her hand, its meeting with the floor echoing around the library. Then she squeaks out a sob.

“No!” I spring forward, grimacing at the raspy sound the skirt makes as I attempt to reach Birdie before Miles.

He gets there first and puts an arm around her. A meltable moment, my mother would call it. After she gave me a dressing down. And I deserve one. My niece may be on the spoiled side and she may work my nerves, but I love her—even like her when that sweet streak of hers comes through. “It’s okay, Birdie,” Miles soothes. “The prince doesn’t die.”

Yes, he does, but what possessed me to say so? And what if I’ve scarred her for life?

Miles pats her head onto his shoulder. “Aunt Bridge is just”—he gives me the evil eye—“constipated.”

“Yes, Birdie.” I drop to my knees. “I am. My heart, that is. Constipated. I’m so sorry.”

She turns her head and, upper lip shiny with the stuff running out of her nose, says in a hiccupy voice, “The prince doesn’t die?” I grab the book from the floor and turn to the back. “Look. There they are, riding off into the sunset—er, to his castle. Happy. See, it says so.” I tap the H, E, and A.

She sniffs hard, causing that stuff to whoosh up her nose and my gag reflex to go on alert. “Weally happy, Aunt Bridge?”

“Yes.”

“Nope.” Barely-there eyebrows bunching, she lifts her head from Miles’s shoulder. “Not unless you say it.”

Oh dear Go—No, He and I are not talking. Well, He may be talking, but I’m not listening.

“I think you’d better.” Miles punctuates his advice with a sharp nod.

“Okay.” I look down at the page. “…and they lived…” It’s just a fairy tale—highly inflated, overstated fiction for tykes. “…they lived happily…ever…after.”

Birdie blinks in slow motion. “Happily…ever…after. That’s a nice way to say it, like you wanna hold on to it for always.”

Or unstick it from the roof of your mouth. “The end.” I close the book, and it’s all I can do not to toss it over my shoulder. “Here you go.”

She clasps it to her chest. “Happily…ever…after.”

Peachy. But I’ll take her dreamy murmuring over tears any day. Goodness, I can’t believe I made her cry. I stand and pat the skirt back down into its stand-alone shape. “More cake?”

“Yay!” Miles charges past me.

Next time— No, there won’t be a next time. I’m done with Little Golden Books.

Excerpted from Restless in Carolina by Tamara Leigh Copyright © 2011 by Tamara Leigh. Excerpted by permission of Multnomah Books, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

CFBA Book Spotlight: Out of Control by Mary Connealy

About the Book: Julia Gilliland has always been interested in the natural world around her. She particularly enjoys her outings to the cavern near her father's homestead, where she explores for fossils and formations, and plans to write a book about her discoveries. The cave seems plenty safe--until the day a mysterious intruder steals the rope she uses to find her way out.

Rafe Kincaid has spent years keeping his family's cattle ranch going, all without help from his two younger brothers, who fled the ranch--and Rafe's controlling ways--as soon as they were able. He's haunted by one terrible day at the cave on a far-flung corner of the Kincaid property, a day that changed his life forever. Ready to put the past behind him, he plans to visit the cave one final time. He sure doesn't expect to find a young woman trapped in one of the tunnels--or to be forced to kiss her!

Rafe is more intrigued by Julia than any woman he's ever known, but how can he overlook her fascination with the cave he despises? And when his developing relationship with Julia threatens his chance at reconciliation with his brothers, will he be forced to choose between the family bonds that could restore his trust and the love that could heal his heart?