Edgewise

Wordless Monday

2009-12-07T15:16:00.000-08:00

La Jolla Shores at sunset. . .

Maybe it's just me. . .

2009-11-30T09:35:00.000-08:00

When I am asked who my favorite authors are I often respond by listing my favorite books instead. I have yet to find a contemporary author whose every book is among my my favorites. And I guess I am okay with that. I know I don't always hit one of out of the park every time I write a novel, how could I place the same demands on another writer?

For example, I loved Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees. Not so much The Mermaid Chair. I gobbled up Ahab's Wife by Sena Jeter Naslund, and only merely enjoyed Four Spirits. Loved Map of the World by Jane Hamilton, just liked When Madeline was Young. And I thoroughly enjoyed Anita Diamant's The Red Tent and was so glad to hear she had something new out this fall, Day After Night.

I liked it. But I can't say I loved it. I loved the premise, and I still love her writing style, but the execution of the story didn't grab me like Red Tent did. The level of magic in the prose was decidedly different. Or maybe I am different, five years after reading Red Tent.

Here's the story in a nutshell from the book's promo material: "Day After Night is based on the extraordinary true story of the October 1945 rescue of more than two hundred prisoners from the Atlit internment camp, a prison for "illegal" immigrants run by the British military near the Mediterranean coast south of Haifa. The story is told through the eyes of four young women at the camp with profoundly different stories. All of them survived the Holocaust: Shayndel, a Polish Zionist; Leonie, a Parisian beauty; Tedi, a hidden Dutch Jew; and Zorah, a concentration camp survivor. Haunted by unspeakable memories and losses, afraid to begin to hope, Shayndel, Leonie, Tedi, and Zorah find salvation in the bonds of friendship and shared experience even as they confront the challenge of re-creating themselves in a strange new country."

That premise alone would've hooked me even without having read The Red Tent. But each evening as I read the next chapter of Day After Night I found myself anticipating the moment when I wouldn't be able to put it down. That moment never came. I liked the book very much. But I was able to put it down. The prose is lovely, and Diamant's voice is as simplistically powerful as always but there was no Wow! factor this time. And I found the ending sentences rather trite. I doubt my editor would've let me offer up the same last closing lines. "You can do better," she would've said.

Perhaps I am becoming too much of an editor. I don't mean to read others' novels with a critical eye, but I do. And I can't seem to stop.

It's a good book. But my expectations were high.

And I really don't know if I want to figure out how to lower them. I think having them makes me want to be a better writer. . .

Oven-door fences

2009-11-23T09:16:00.000-08:00

Today I welcome author Linda Clare to the Edge so we can chat about her new book, The Fence My Father Built. Linda has been jotting her thoughts down since she was young girl (I totally get that). She lives in Eugene, is a wife and mom, and teaches college-level writing. I had the pleasure of reading an advance copy of her new novel with its very distinctive cover - a fence made of oven doors. We both think it's kind of cool that our newest releases feature fences in the titles and in the cover art!

Here's the publisher's description: When legally separated Muri Pond, a librarian, hauls her kids, teenager Nova and eleven year-old Truman, out to the tiny town of Murkee, Oregon, where her father, Joe Pond lived and died, she's confronted by a neighbor's harassment over water rights and Joe's legacy: a fence made from old oven doors.

The fence and accompanying house trailer horrify rebellious Nova, who runs away to the drug-infested streets of Seattle. Muri searches for her daughter and for something to believe in, all the while trying to save her inheritance from the conniving neighbor who calls her dad Chief Joseph. Along with Joe's sister, Aunt Lutie, and the Red Rock Tabernacle Ladies, Muri must rediscover the faith her alcoholic dad never abandoned in order to reclaim her own spiritual path.

Edge: Where did the seed of this story come from?
Linda: The Fence My Father Built drew on several life experiences. Since I was a small child, I always longed to know my birth father. I was a precocious little brat who remembered the day Mom and NewDad (who adopted me) left me with Grams while they went to Las Vegas to get married. Adopted Dad was the best! Yet this part of me couldn’t let go of the question: Where did I come from? To make matters more complicated, Mom was adopted too, so my family tree was a really skinny short bush. I located RealDad when I was an adult, but unlike the story, he is still alive and well and living in Chino Valley, AZ.

Edge: Did you see a fence made of oven doors once that you knew you just had to weave into a story?
Linda: I got the idea for the fence from a newspaper article my local paper did, about a nice old guy who lived in a ratty trailer, mended bikes for kids, kept potbellied pigs and had built a fence from old oven doors. No photo, just the description. I stole that shamelessly.

Edge: What is the significance of the oven doors to you?
Linda: The fence symbolizes my father’s (and Muri’s) lifelong search for his daughter. Dad never gave up hope of finding me. I also think it’s a statement of how God has given us the Bible as a way to see the path we travel. A beacon, if you will. You gotta admit, that fence is eyecatching.

Edge: How about the rundown trailer Muri inherits?
As a child, I used to stay with my folks in a similar trailer in Oak Creek Canyon, a beautiful place in Northern Arizona. I loved staying there.

Edge: What do you hope the reader draws from those images?
Linda: I’m hoping readers see that life circumstances do nothing to alter God’s opinion of you. Whether you’re rich or poor, fancy or plain, God loves you and is willing to meet you where you are—even if you’re on the fence.

Edge: Are any parts of it autobiographical?
Linda: Probably a lot. My aunt was a head librarian for a large school district. I was driven to know my dad and once we met in real life, I learned I’m part Cherokee Indian.

Edge: Does your interest in the Nez Perce tribe stem from your own history? If not, then where?
Linda: Originally I was going to set the story in Arizona near Oak Creek and Sedona. But when I took a trip to Central Oregon, I saw the same red dirt and I was hooked. The Nez Perce piece came because Muri’s father was named after the famous Chief Joseph, and because I decided to set the story in Oregon.

Edge: What do you think makes us, to one extent or another, yearn for “home?”
Linda: When I was a ten year-old in Yuma, Arizona, I was sent far away by myself to a hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah for corrective orthopedic surgery on my left arm—paralyzed from polio I’d had as a baby. I stayed in that place for 3 months without my family. I had two more trips there, until I was 12 and each time I got so lonely for family. You never realize how important home is until you can’t get there.

Edge: What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
Linda: When’s that? I also teach writing at a local college, and also mentor and edit other writers. But aside from reading, I love to garden and I love cats. And playing with my daughter’s new teacup Chihuahua, Bella.

Edge: What’s next on the horizon for you?
Linda: I’m nearly finished with another stand-alone novel, this time set on the blustery Oregon Coast, called Hiding From Floyd. And if readers yell loudly enough, maybe they’ll let me write more about Murkee, the oven doors fence and those crazy Ponds.

Thanks for being here, Linda. You can learn more about Linda from her interview at the Novel Journey and on her blog.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving everyone!

2009-11-20T16:23:00.000-08:00

I am the guest blogger over Cara Putman's place today. If you want to know what I do with my characters when I finish writing a book, this post will tell you that I send them all to Disneyland. . .

Have a superb weekend. On Monday, a visit from novelist Linda Clare.

Kudos to the carrot

2009-11-16T09:45:00.000-08:00

Every year, right about this time I'd say, the speed on the turntable gets kicked up a notch and life just seems to start zipping by at chipmunk-voice speed. I get dizzy just writing those words.

I know why, of course. There is a not-so-subtle shift within the You are Here camp - right after the cheesy Halloween decorations disappear off store shelves - to taunt, tease and tempt me to produce Christmas. Not enjoy Christmas or understand Christmas or give Christmas. But produce it. Make a list. Make a budget. Make cookies. Make Christmas happen. And make it bigger and better than last year.

I am more aware of than I have ever been and more of the mind to refuse to comply, but it ain't easy. It's like trying to enjoy munching on carrot sticks on Carrot Day when all around you, at every turn, is a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies made with real butter and Ghirardelli chocolate. You really want to enjoy Carrot Day. You love carrots. They are good for you. They don't contribute to heart disease or your waistline. They are a lovely shade of quiet orange. They are full of vitamins and are sweet and wet and crunchy. And if the people making all those dang cookies would just take their stupid cookie plates away until Cookie Day, for pity's sake, it would be a lot easier to celebrate the Carrot.

The speed, though, is the problem that keeps us from holding up a hand and saying "Wait just a doggone minute!" Everything is happening so fast, we are numbed into a cookie-eating stupor from which we don't emerge until January, when the cookies disappear and it becomes Treadmill Day.

I'd like to dial it all down to the speed of pharmaceutical commercials. You know the kind I mean. Those commercials for COPD and fibromyalgia and depression and rheumatoid arthritis, where everything happens at super slo mo speed and the person who needs to make a change can do it because cookies aren't being shoved in her face at 60 miles per hour.

Don't get me wrong. I like cookies. But if it's carrot day, and not cookie day, then shouldn't the cookies disappear so that we can celebrate our carrots?

Carrots, by the way, are not a metaphor for Baby Jesus. But our addiction to fast-moving plates of cookies is a metaphor for a lot of things. . .

I am taking a deep breath this morning. I am imagining eating a carrot at slow-motion speed, and savoring its crunchy sweetness.

Cookies are lovely, no doubt about it.

But it's not cookie day. Not for me. . .

2009-11-13T09:25:00.000-08:00

Today I welcome debut author Ariel Allison to the Edge to talk about her new book, eye of the god, (that's right, grammarians - no caps!!) an intriguing suspense novel about the one and only Hope Diamond. Two things I can tell you right up front: 1. The Hope Diamond has a past - it's very nearly a character in this book. 2. Someone wants to steal it.

Edge: Where did this idea come from? Are you in some ways like your main character Abby?
Ariel: In the Spring of 1995, I stumbled across an article in Life Magazine on the Hope Diamond. The two-page spread showed Michelle Pfeiffer wearing the jewel and gave a brief history of the legendary curse. I knew instantly that it should to be a novel. Being the curious gal that I am, I dug around and was surprised to find that although most people were familiar with the curse, no one had done anything with the concept. So I began researching and writing. That was fourteen years ago this spring. The main character, Abby Mitchell, has a very broken relationship with her father. Unfortunately, that is something I know a great deal about. My dad died six years ago and I had to ask him on his deathbed if he loved me. So I was intrigued by the idea of a woman who would do anything to gain her father’s love – even if it meant betraying her own values.

Edge: So, where does ‘eye of the god’ as your title fit in? What do you want your title to communicate?
Ariel: According to legend, the Hope Diamond was once the eye of a Hindu idol named Rama Sita (thus the lower case letters in the title). When it was stolen in the 17th century, it is said that the idol cursed all those who would possess it. But that doesn’t stop the brilliant and ruthless Weld brothers from attempting to steal it from the Smithsonian. However, they are not prepared for Dr. Abigail Mitchell, the beautiful Smithsonian Director, who has her own connection to the Hope Diamond, and a deadly secret to keep. Yet, when all is said and done, and the dust has finally settled over the last great adventure of the Hope Diamond, we understand the “curse” that has haunted its legacy is nothing more than the greed of evil men who bring destruction upon themselves. No god chiseled from stone can direct the fates of men, nor can it change the course of His-story.

Edge: Were there other stories of the diamond that you had to leave out for space that really intrigued you?
Ariel: Honestly, that was the hardest part of writing this novel. All told, there were over thirty historic figures that came into contact with the diamond since its discovery and I had to choose three around which to anchor the story. Some of the more infamous characters include Louis XIV, Marie Antoinette, George IV, Napoleon, Caroline of Brunswick, May Yohe, Evalyn Walsh McLean, Harry Winston, and Jackie Kennedy. A few of my favorite historical tidbits that I discovered during my research are:

The Hope Diamond was pawned by Evelyn Walsh McLean in order to pay the ransom in the Lindbergh baby kidnapping.
Jackie Kennedy petitioned the Smithsonian to allow the Hope Diamond to visit the Louvre in Paris just months before her husband was assassinated.
The Hope Diamond was confiscated from the possession of Louis XVI a short while before he was beheaded during the French Revolution.

Edge: What kind of research did you have to do to get the details on security at the Smithsonian? Did you spend a lot of time observing the museum in action?
Ariel: All of the security details regarding the Hope Diamond display are accurate, and publicly available, but everything else is a product of my imagination. The Smithsonian is, for obvious reasons, very tight lipped about it security protocol. So I did as much general research as I could and then filled in the gaps. It is as realistic as I could make it without getting my hands on the actual schematics. However, I have never been to the Smithsonian myself – though I would love to go one day. Yet the museum offers hundreds of display photographs, floor plans, and virtual tours online, so in that regard, I’ve visited it dozens of times.

Edge:You have some very intriguing plot twists in the story. Did you plan all those twists from the beginning or did the plot evolve as you wrote? Did anything about the way the story developed surprise you?
Ariel: I am a very serious plotter, so I spent at least a month outlining the story before I ever began writing. I created the characters and charted out everything (major and minor) that happened in the novel. Then I wove together the main storyline and all the subplots so I knew what to write, scene by scene. Once I had the structure in place I felt free to start writing and let the characters grow and surprise me, which they did, on more than one occasion.

Edge:Have you always been a fan of suspense? What are some of your favorite books or writers? Ariel:I first fell in love with mystery/suspense novels when I read Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie. I remember being stunned when I finished the book – when I realized that she gave me every clue I needed to solve the mystery and I still wasn’t able to. I had that same feeling the first time I watched The Usual Suspects. Being outsmarted by an author is such a fun feeling. And it’s something I try to bring into my novels. I love giving readers a puzzle to solve.That said, I don’t just read suspense. My reading tastes are very eclectic. A few books that come to mind are: The Narnia Chronicles. The Lord of the Rings. Keeper of the Bees. Anything by George MacDonald. Anne of Green Gables. Watership Down. The Gifts of the Child Christ. The Kite Runner. The Time Travelers Wife. Water for Elephants. Harry Potter. The Shape of Mercy (yes, your book has recently made it to the top of my favorites list). As I look at that list I realize that the first ones were books that my mother read to me while growing up. She didn’t stop at picture books and she didn’t stop when I could read them on my own. These are the books I lived out during my playtime as a child.

The recent titles are the ones that inspire me to become a better writer. Books like The Kite Runner and The Time Travelers Wife are so beautifully done that they almost make me want to quit writing. I aspire to be that kind of storyteller. More than anything, I just love an original story. I can appreciate good writing in most any genre and if the author can take me away to a new place, they’ve earned my respect forever.

Edge: What’s next on the horizon for you?
Ariel: At the moment there are fifteen novels in various stages of development tucked away on my hard drive. But the three books that will be making an appearance soon all involve mysteries: one from Shakespeare, one from 1930’s New York City, and one from the famous author L.M. Montgomery.

Thanks for being here, Ariel. Have a great weekend, everyone!

2009-11-09T13:23:00.000-08:00

Today I welcome my friend Robin Lee Hatcher to The Edge as we chat about her new release, Fit to Be Tied, the second title in her Sisters of Bethlehem series.

EDGE: So, Robin, what's the inspiration behind this series?
RLH: The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs series sprang from the question: Who says a coman can't do a man's job? And I can't fully express just how much fun I've had looking for the answer through the eyes of my heroines in this series. Although I have no favorites among the novels I've written (each were special to me at the time I wrote them), I do have some favorite characters. I love her for her strong faith, for her quirky turns of phrase, for her confidence with horses and her lack of confidence with men, even for her impatience with Sherwood, the English aristocrat that she's supposed to turn into a cowboy. I've been delighted that readers have taken her into their hearts the way they have. I hope you will feel the same way about her.

EDGE:Tell us about Fit to Be Tied.
RLH: Cleo Arlington dresses like a cowboy, is fearless and fun-loving, and can ride, rope, and wrangle a horse as well as any man. In 1916, however, those talents aren’t what most young women aspire to. But Cleo isn’t most women. Twenty-nine years old and single, Cleo loves life on her father’s Idaho ranch. Still, she hopes someday to marry and have children.

Enter Sherwood Statham, an English aristocrat whose father has sentenced him to a year of work in

America

to “straighten him out.” Sherwood, who expected a desk job at a posh spa, isn’t happy to be stuck on an Idaho ranch. And he has no idea how to handle Cleo, who’s been challenged with transforming this uptight playboy into a down- home cowboy.

Just about everything either of them says or does leaves the other, well, fit to be tied. And though Cleo believes God’s plan for her includes a husband, it couldn’t possibly be Sherwood Statham. Could it?

About Fit to be Tied, the Library Journal said: "A master of lively historical romances, Hatcher demonstrates an expert ability to craft spunky, unlikely heroines who go against the tide of the times in which they live, making for fun, exciting stories. She also pays close attention to historical detail. This second series entry (after A Vote of Confidence) is highly recommended for readers of inspirational and historical romances and women's fiction."

Want to read an excerpt? Here you go.

A bit about Robin: Best-selling novelist Robin Lee Hatcher is known for her heartwarming and emotionally charged stories of faith, courage, and love. She makes her home in Idaho where she enjoys spending time with her family and her high-maintenance Papillon, Poppet.

Phriday Phobias

2009-11-06T10:06:00.000-08:00

Those who know me well, know that I had a long list of things I was afraid of as a kid. I know now that these phobias were just the outworking of an overly creative mind - something that comes in handy now that I am a fiction writer.

Back when I was little kid, though, I wasn't writing novels and I had a hard time appreciating my active imagination. Actually, I had NO time to appreciate my active imagination; I was too busy defending myself from enemies like Mr. Bubble, Mr. Clean and, insert gasp here, the Michelin Man.

I really, really hated that guy. Everything about him was wrong. He was a man made of tires. White tires. Even a six-year-old knows that tires are black. How on earth could anyone trust a man made of white tires?

And what would he do to me if he got close to me, this man-made-of-white-tires? Why, he'd wrap his fat, white arms around my body in a boa-constrictor-like hold and suffocate me, of course. What other purpose could he have?

I survived my childhood, obviously, and no longer have nightmares about company mascots chasing after me, but even now - as recent as last night - when I see the Michelin Man on television (last night he was pulling little black tires out of his abominable snowman body and throwing them at evil gas pumps who want our wallets) a ripple of unease courses through me. I am instantly reminded that I used to be afraid of him.

There is much I know now about the Michelin Man that I didn't know when I was a kid. He is happy. He likes cars. He's a hundred years old. He has a cool name no one even knows. Bidendum. Bib for short. And his record is as clean as his cottonwhite body: He has suffocated no children.

A good friend gave me a Michelin Man T-shirt and sometimes I wear it as a token of my remorse for having had unjust thoughts about him all those years ago.

But the truth is, he's made of white tires.

And tires are black.

My trust can only extend so far. . .

Time traveling

2009-11-02T09:46:00.000-08:00

I've long admired an author who can weave a story of two time periods into a seamless ride that doesn't make you feel like you are spinning in one of the teacups in Disneyland. I loved People of the Book and The Thirteenth Tale for that reason, and now I can add Kate Morgan's The Forgotten Garden to the list. And get this: Morton crafts a story of three time zones, an even more admirable feat, I think.

And here's why.

We authors lure you into our fictive world by creating a character in a certain time and space and we entice you to care about them. It is incredibly important that you care about them; that's what keeps you turning pages. When we create a second storyline in second time zone, we are now asking you not to split your character loyalty in half, but to double your capacity for character loyalty. Add a third character in a third time zone and now we ask you to triple it.

It's a tall order. And when someone can pull it off, I think that's a feat worth mentioning.

The Forgotten Garden begins at the turn of the century in an Australian port where a four-year-old has been found alone on ship that originated in London. Unable to give her name or any other identifying information, she is taken in by the childless harbormaster and his wife. When someone comes looking for the child many months later, well after the harbormaster and his wife have grown to love the child, they move away with her and try for decades to pretend she was always theirs. Upon the harbormaster's deathbed, the girl-now-older-woman learns the truth and so begins her and reader's journey to find out who she is and how she ended up on a boat, all alone with nothing but a tiny suitcase and a book of fairy tales.

In addition to the clever story construction, I was also thoroughly impressed with Morton's committment to making every chapter stand-alone sweet. It's easy, once you have story momentum going, to minimize the care and labor you spend on those supporting chapters that just provide a momentary rest stop for the real plot line. Morton peppered her pages with nuggets of story all over the place. I admire that. She could've saved those images for her next book, and made them stars in their own right. But she gifted them to the reader inside a story that was already intruiguing.

Well done.

You can read an excerpt here:

See you on Friday.

Sleigh Bells, anyone?

2009-10-26T07:54:00.001-07:00

The tang of fall is still in the air and usually I don't allow the bliss of autumn's offerings to be shadowed by early talk of December, but I will make a happy exception today to chat about my friend Cindy Woodsmall's new book, The Sound of Sleighbells. Cindy and I share the same editor at the same wonderful publishing house, and the same love for a powerful story. On top of that, Cindy's the most genuniely humble person you could ever meet. If you enjoy a Christmas novel to help you set a gentle, relaxed tone for the rush of holiday activity to come, well here you go.

To give you a little backstory, when Cindy was 10 and living in the dairy country of Maryland, she became best friends with Luann, a Plain Mennonite girl. Luann, like all the women and girlsin her family, wore the prayer Kapp and caped dresses. Her family didn't own a television or radio and many other modern conveniences. When Luann would come Cindy’s house to spend the night, her rules came with her and the two were careful to obey them—afraid that if they didn’t, the adults would end their friendship. Cindy remembers that both sets of parents were uncomfortable with the relationship and that a small infraction of any kind would have been enough reason for the parents to end the relationship.

While navigating around the adults’ disapproval and the obstacles in each others' lifestyle, the two girls bonded in true friendship that lasted into their teen years, until Cindy’s family moved away

. Many years later, Cindy became friends with an Old Order Amish family opened their home and hearts to her. It's these two friendships that give Cindy's Amish fiction the depth of understanding she has for Amish and Mennonite culture.

The story in a nutshell:
Beth Hertzler works alongside her Aunt Lizzy in their dry goods story, and serving as a contact of sorts between Amish craftsmen and Englischers who want to tell the Plain people's wares. But remorse and loneliness still echo everyday in her heart as she still wears th dark garb of mourning following the death of her fiance. When she discovers a large, intricately carved scene of Amish children playing in the snow, something deep inside Beth's soul responds and she wants to help the unknown artist find homes for his work - including Lizzy's dry goods store. But she doesn't know if her bishop will approve of the gorgeous carving or deem it idolatry.

Lizzy sees the changes in her niece when Beth shows her the woodworking, and after Lizzy hunts down Jonah, the artist, she is all the more determined that Beth meets this man with the hands that create healing art. But it’s not that simple–will Lizzy’s elaborate plan to reintroduce her niece to love work? Will Jonah be able to offer Beth the sleigh ride she’s always dreamed of and a second chance at real love–or just more heartbreak?

The Sound of Sleigh Bells is a heartwarming Christmas novella where lack and abundance inside an Amish community has power for good when it's tucked inside love. Romantic Times gave The Sound of Sleigh Bells 4 1/2 stars saying: "This is a wonderfully written, transformative story of two Amish families at Christmastime. It will being sleigh-riding memories to life as readers vicariously join in this jolly and exciting holiday tradition.

You can read an excerpt of the book right here on Cindy's beautiful website. Check out her blog while you are there.

And by the way, Cindy Woodsmall is a New York Times best-selling author whose connection with the Amish has been featured on ABC Nightline and the front page of the Wall Street Journal. She is the mother of three sons and two daughters-in-law, and she and her husband reside in Georgia.

Experiments with Fiction

2009-10-19T16:12:00.000-07:00

In today's San Diego Union Tribune an obituary graced the top of page B4 that drew me in like a magnet to metal: Acclaimed writer known for experimental fiction. It was the headline for the obituary of a local writer and retired professor, Dr. Raymond Federman, who had just passed at the age of 81.

I'd never heard the term "experimental fiction" before, and while I quipped as I folded the page back that I experiment with fiction all the time, deep down I knew this man must have taken fiction for a truly unconventional ride and I had to see where it was he had gone with it.

Turns out Dr. Federman experimented with the conventions of fiction - writing non-linear pieces that defied every boring rule of Story - to make sense of what happened when he was just a boy, not to turn the literary world on its head. Federman, a child of Jewish parents, was living in Paris in 1940. His obituary states that "he was spared from death during the Holocaust when his mother pushed him into a closet to hide when the Gestapo arrived and took the rest of his family. Dr. Federman never saw his parents or two sisters again."

Imagine being twelve and having to emerge from a closet to that kind of desperate situation. No wonder when he was older he experimented with how to tell a story like that one. His "Voice in the Closet" is apparently one, long poetic sentence with no capitalization and no punctuation. His latest work about his life, called "Shhh" is due to be published next year.

"Shhh" is what Federman's mother said to him - the last thing she said to him- as she pushed him into the closet.

I can tell already I must add it to my bucket list of books I simply have to read. And not just to see what experimental fiction look like. . .

2009-10-16T13:50:00.000-07:00

I am halfway through Richard Stearns' The Hole in Our Gospel, a book that asks some of the toughest questions imaginable about faith and practice. I don't usually comment on a book that I haven't finished, mainly because most books are meant to be embraced in their entirety - phonebooks and dictionaries excepted.

But this one has me thinking. It's one of those books you need to think and ponder on while you're reading it.

Stearns was the well-paid CEO of Lennox, busy selling pretty dishes when he was asked to be president of World Vision a few years back. As you probably already know, World Vision doesn't sell pretty dishes. They feed, clothe, and care for some of the world's poorest and disadvantaged children. It was what some might call a huge career move, and a tough choice. But Stearns felt the call of God to make it, and has since come to the conclusion - based on his own experience - that Christians believe the gospel but largely fail to live it out, and that American Christians especially have the resources to make an incredible difference in shrinking poverty around the world.

His treatment of his subject matter is nothing short of blunt: If you are a follower of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, you will love the poor like he did, and you will care for them like he did. I totally get that.

But I am eager to see how Stearns helps us understand how much do we give? Do we give it all away except for what we need to meet our own basic needs? What are my basic needs? Must the Christian buy a used sedan if he or she has the money to buy a new Lexus? Does the prosperous Christian have no option but to give all his wealth away? Is what we do with our material possessions always more important than what we say with our mouths?

A reviewer on Amazon said this book is nicely paired with Randy Alcorn's The Treasure Principle, about which one reader said, "Giving is the only antidote to materialism." I don't fully understand the scope of alleviating the plight of the world's poor, but I do understand the snarky pull of materialism. That, I understand.

More when I finish. . .

She Reads, of course!

2009-10-05T14:18:00.000-07:00

Proverbs 31 Ministries, a fabulous organization, has a new book club called She Reads, which launched in September with three new featured books, one of which is The Shape of Mercy.

I wrote a devotional for the main Proverbs 31 site that you can read right here. My publisher is giving away ten copies and one grand winner will receive a beautiful leather bound journal and fountain pen, ala Mercy's diary. You can enter the drawing on the Proverbs 31 site today - the link takes you right to the She Reads blog.

Want to know more about She Reads? Sure you do! My good friend Marybeth Whalen is one of the key organizers of She Reads and she wrote a great blog post about it last week, which I have excerpted here:

So how does She Reads work?
Marybeth: Our goal for She Reads is for it to function in two ways: 1) as a place an individual can go get recommendations for great books to read and to connect with the authors who wrote them and other readers who enjoyed them and 2) as a place where book clubs that are already out there can get connected with an umbrella organization that provides suggestions for books, activities they can do, discussion questions, and a point of contact with the author. We are working towards accomplishing these goals and are learning and tweaking as we go.

That sounds great, so how can I get connected?
Marybeth: Right now, the best way to get connected is to sign up for our seasonal newsletter and to subscribe to our blog, which is updated several times a week. You can also become a fan on Facebook and/or follow us on Twitter. That way, as we make changes and create new facets to She Reads, you will know about it. To visit our site and learn more, go to www.shereads.org. There is a navigation bar at the top which will take you to different parts of the site.

What books have you selected so far?
Marybeth: We select 3 books a season. Our fall selections are Daisy Chain by Mary DeMuth, The Shape of Mercy by Susan Meissner, and eye of the god by Ariel Allison. These three different books all meet the criteria we created at the outset. Because this club is not set up by any one publisher we have the freedom to go to any Christian publisher to find our selections... and we do. We are reading, reading, reading right now to find our spring and summer selections. We have already chosen our winter ones but I can't tell you what those are yet! We will be making our announcement towards the beginning of December but I can promise you you are in for a treat with these books!

Do check the devo out!

A Slow Burn

2009-10-02T16:50:00.000-07:00

Today I have the pleasure of welcoming Mary DeMuth to the Edge to chat about her new book A Slow Burn, a richly told story of regrets and redemption. Mary has a wonderful book trailer for this book, which you can find right here. A Slow Burn takes us back to Defiance, Texas - the setting of the first book in this series, Daisy Chain. Here, we enter into the shadowed, hollow world of Daisy's mother, Emory Chance - a woman who wishes for all the world she could have what her name suggests - another chance.

Mary, Where did you get the idea for the book?
I wrote the series of stories based on hearing friends of mine talk about their Christian homes that appeared great on the outside, only to hide abuse on the inside. This really bothered me. Daisy became the inciting incident to explore three people’s stories relating to authenticity and hiding. In book one, Daisy Chain, I explore a teenage boy’s perspective to a family in crisis. In book two, A Slow Burn, I examine what would it be like to have deep, deep mommy regrets enough to want to be free from them. In book three, Life in Defiance, I tell the conclusion of the story through a battered wife’s perspective.I am not a teenage boy. Nor am I a neglectful mother. And I’m not a battered wife. But I’ve interacted with folks who are. It’s for them that I wrote these stories.

What’s the significance to you personally of the town’s name, Defiance?
Several characters in different ways embody the act of defiance. Hap, certainly. But even Emory has her own form of defiance convention. Muriel, who is battling cancer in the book, certainly defies it, defies untruth. Hixon is the gentlest form of defiance I can think of, more of a Martin Luther King Junior defiant than an in-your-face Hap defiance.

What are the major themes of the book?
You’re never too far from God’s grace and love and forgiveness. That God is a pursuing, redemptive, relentless God. He loves His children, even when they run far, far away. That Jesus comes to us in surprising packages, and sometimes we’re so bothered by appearances that we miss Him.

What kind of research did you have to do for A Slow Burn?
I had to figure out how a drug addict acted and thought. I had to research what drugs do to a person, particularly the lure and the trips they take folks on. I had to get into the mind of a drug addict, which wasn’t easy for me, someone who is terrified of drugs. I created Defiance from my head and my two-year stint in East Texas.

In your first book in this series, Daisy Chain, we spend a lot of time in the point of view of young Jed Pepper. In A Slow Burn, Daisy’s mother is continuing the story. Did you find Jed wanting to “talk” to you during the writing of A Slow Burn?
No, weirdly. He didn’t say much, probably because I was so entrenched in Emory’s head. I tend to absorb myself in my point of view characters. But I did miss Jed. Great kid!

Did you ever see yourself as a child in your portrayals of Daisy? What did you draw from to form her character? In some ways, yes. Daisy was much more of a free spirit, less afraid than I was as a child. Perhaps she’s how I wish I would’ve been. She faced her own world head on, not too concerned about her problems. And she found a really good friend who made everything so much better. I could relate to Daisy’s home life situation, the neglect, the drugs. So that part came more naturally to me.

Where does your inspiration for writing southern drama spring from? From my own southern drama! Just kidding. Not a native, I’m fascinated by the south—its sometimes-darkness. Its secrets. It feels like the perfect place to set the types of novels I write.

With which character do you, personally, identify most and why?
That’s really hard. I see myself in all of them. When I feel guilty about my parenting, I relate to Emory. When I feel like an outcast, trying to do the right thing, I understand Hixon and Muriel better.

What do you hope readers will take away from your book?
That God is bigger than our sin, our regret, our hopelessness. He takes delight in intersecting the darkest of circumstances. He is there, available.

You can find Mary at home on the web right here. And you can find A Slow Burn right here.

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.

Autumn offerings!

2009-09-28T11:35:00.000-07:00

With the arrival of all things autumn, there is a near-universal return among us booklovers to our To Be Read piles that somehow we just didn't get to during the summer months, despite all that relaxed reading time the long nights are supposed to afford us. I've got five sure-to-be fabulous books for my Fall Reading Gala that I can't wait to get to (down from 20 when I decided to take a more realistic approach). And here they are:

The Forgotten Garden: After I finished The House At Riverton by Kate Morton, I knew I wanted to get my hands on her newest. I've actually started this one already and am quite taken with Morton's ability to let us time travel without getting dizzy. A four-year-old girl is found alone on a ship that sailed from London to Australia in 1913. The harbormaster and his wife take her in, and many months later - well after this couple has learned to love this child - someone comes looking for her. The harbormaster and his wife move far away from the port where they found her, convincing themselves that anyone who could misplace a child for months is not fit to have her. When the child begins to forget the little she remembers of her other life, the couple simply ceases to talk about it. The story takes us to the point of view of that child, Nellie, as an adult and now aware of her origins, to the point of view of her granddaughter some years after Nell's death, to the point of view of the long-ago mother who lost her. Three time zones, lots of mental sailing, rich prose, clever storytelling, but hold onto the rail or you will forget where you are. And you don't want to do that. It's shaping up so nicely.

I am also many pages into A Slow Burn by my very dear friend, Mary DeMuth. I will actually set aside The Forgotten Garden for a few days to finish A Slow Burn, the second in her Defiance, Texas series about the affects of a young girl's disappearance on a slow-moving Texas town. Mary will be my guest on Friday and we'll talk about this book and its place in the series, which began with Daisy Chain, one of my favorite reads from 2009. Mary writes with depth and charm, a nice mix these days when it seems like many books sacrifice one for the other. Come back Friday for more.

Since it came out earlier this year, I've been itching to get into The Passion of Mary Margaret, the latest by one of my favorite authors, Lisa Samson. Publishers Weekly sez: "Samson mixes quirky with mysticism, seasons it with social justice, and the result is a page-turner with characters so fresh, funny and indelible the reader wants another 50 pages or so, please. Samson envisions a Jesus even an atheist would enjoy talking to, a Jesus whom the titular Mary-Margaret Fischer, a religious sister, talks to and gets direction from, as mystics quite naturally do. An even more compelling figure than Jesus, or at least someone with more lines and hence more characterization, is Mary-Margaret's childhood friend, Jude Keller, a ne'er-do-well with a soul needing saving encased in a body so good-looking it's hard for a body to resist. The required Christian progression to redemption is a natural in this story that slips between past and present-somewhat confusingly at first-and ranges from Maryland to Africa. The plot holds a few surprises that make some of the final, far-flung episodes more narratively and theologically satisfying. Quirk works; this is a deeply engaging book deserving of a broad audience." I happen to LOVE quirk.

Despite its troubling storyline, I loved the way Audrey Niffeneggar wove The Time Traveler's Wife together. It was a completely orignal story with highly memorable characters. You don't see too many stories like that. You see memorable characters but they are by and large wrapped in a good plot we've seen before. So, I've been anxious for Niffeneggar's next offering and here it is: Her Fearful Symmetry, which will release tomorrow. Her publisher sez: "Six years after the phenomenal success of The Time Traveler's Wife, Audrey Niffenegger has returned with a spectacularly compelling and haunting second novel set in and around Highgate Cemetery in London. . . Niffenegger weaves a captivating story in Her Fearful Symmetry about love and identity, about secrets and sisterhood, and about the tenacity of life -- even after death." There is apparently a ghost in this story, and I happen to like intelligent ghost stories. Not the creepy kind. The "What if?" kind. . .

And I've already mentioned in an earlier post that I am so looking forward to Anita Diamant's newest, Day After Night. I read The Red Tent a number of years ago and enjoyed that book so much. And since I like stories that take me to the past, I am hoping to be swept away again by Diamant's flair for storytelling from another time.

So that's the line-up! Wish I could read them all and not have to do anything else . . .

What's on your fall reading list?

See you on Friday. Mary DeMuth will be in the house. . .

Moments of brilliance. . .

2009-09-25T12:28:00.000-07:00

I’m reading Robert McKee’s Story – a screenwriting book – and ran across this snippet yesterday. I really like it. . . . It’s from the Structure & Setting chapter and he’s talking about the value of research, especially as it relates to thoroughly knowing your characters, which I admit is a biggie for me:

“Research from memory, imagination, and fact is often followed by a phenomenon that authors love to describe in mystical terms. Characters suddenly spring to life and of their own free will make choices and take actions that create Turning Points that twist, build, and turn again, until the writer can hardly type fast enough to keep up with the outpourings. This “virgin birth” is a charming self-deception that writers love to indulge in, but the sudden impression that the story is writing itself simply marks the moment when a writer’s knowledge of the subject has reached the saturation point. The writer becomes the god of his little universe and is amazed by what seems to be spontaneous creation, but is in fact, the reward for hard work.”

I can't express how much I like knowing that the magical moment when the story seems to possess me, is actually the moment I fully possess the story, so densely and completely, that the words just fly. I've had those moments when Ijust can't type fast enough. Those moments are scary and wonderful.

And here I thought I was just a stooge for the muse at that mystical moment. It's much nicer knowing she's probably sitting off in the corner pouting because I suddenly don't need her anymore. The moments of brilliance are actually mine. Nifty, that.

I'll be at the San Diego Christian Writers' Guild annual conference tonight and tomorrow doing fiction consultations. If you live within driving distance and you like to write, you should come! There will be a wonderful group of speakers and authors there, including Cec Murphey, Jack Cavanaugh, Lynn Vincent and Kathi Macias.

On Monday, I present the full fall line-up of books I plan to devour. . .

2009-09-21T10:25:00.000-07:00

I've a great new release by Terri Blackstock to tell you about, but before we get to that, I just wanted to let you know that The Shape of Mercy was named the Book of the Year for Women's Fiction on Saturday night by the American Christian Fiction Writers. I'm honored to have shared the nomination with six talented writers and floored that The Shape of Mercy won with its subtely-themed (in terms of Christian message) story. Thank you, ACFW, for the honor.

And now on to the newest by Terri Blackstock, a brilliant suspense writer who's as gentle as a summer breeze and one of the kindest people I know. Terri Blackstock's new book Intervention was inspired by her personal experiences with her daughter's addictions. Six years ago she became aware that her daughter (then in her early twenties) had a severe prescription pill addiction that was killing her, and she hired an interventionist to convince her daughter to go to treatment. After a grueling few hours, her daughter agreed to go. As Terri put her on the plane with the interventionist, she was hit with the crushing feeling that her daughter was in the hands of a stranger, and anything could happen. That's when this book was born.

Over the past few years, Terri's family has been in a tornado of relapses and rehabs, with one emergency after another, and grace upon grace. But through all this, God has taught her to pray as never before, and he's shown her how many other families are experiencing the same thing. He's also shown her that many blessings can come from crises such as this. Terri has tried to fold all of those experiences into this suspense novel of desperation and hope. She's also added a page to her web site: "Hope for Families of Addicts" which has tips on dealing with a loved one who has addictions.

Though the book is fiction, Terri poured much of herself into Barbara, the mother who's desperate to save her daughter. And Terri's own daughter has given her blessings for Terri to talk about this, in hopes of helping other hurting families and raise awareness about the perils of addiction. To see/hear Terri share her personal story about Intervention, don't miss her interviews on American Family Radio's "Today's Issues" on September 24, Moody Radio's "Chris Fabry Live on September 25, and "The 700 Club" on September 29.

In stores everywhere September 22nd, here's the teaser: "It was her last hope—and the beginning of a new nightmare. Barbara Covington has one more chance to save her daughter from a devastating addiction, by staging an intervention. But when eighteen-year-old Emily disappears on the way to drug treatment—and her interventionist is found dead at the airport—Barbara enters her darkest nightmare of all. Barbara and her son set out to find Emily before Detective Kent Harlan arrests her for a crime he is sure she committed. Fearing for Emily’s life, Barbara maintains her daughter’s innocence. But does she really know her anymore? Meanwhile, Kent has questions of his own. His gut tells him that this is a case of an addict killing for drugs, but as he gets to know Barbara, he begins to hope he’s wrong about Emily. The mysteries intensify as everyone’s panic grows: Did Emily’s obsession with drugs lead her to commit murder—or is she another victim of a cold-blooded killer? In this gripping novel of intrigue and suspense, bestselling author Terri Blackstock delivers the page-turning drama that readers around the world have come to expect from her."

Watch the Intervention video trailer at www.youtube.com/terriblackstock

Order Intervention at http://www.terriblackstock.com/books/coming-soon/

2009-09-18T11:01:00.000-07:00

Here's a fabulous new writer's resource than I am so thrilled to have been a part of. I am a member of a fiction writers friendship group known as ChiLibris and a bunch of us pooled our knowledge about novel-writing to create A Novel Idea: Best Advice on Writing Inspirational Fiction.

The book is chock-full of articles about the craft; on everything from research methods, to plotting, to editing, to marketing. My article describes how to get on intimate terms with your characters. Oo lala.

Here's what the book's promo piece says on Amazon, which, by the way, also highlights the best thing about this project: "Best-selling Christian fiction writers have teamed together to contribute articles on the craft of writing. A Novel Idea contains tips on brainstorming ideas and crafting and marketing a novel. It explains what makes a Christian novel "Christian" and offers tips on how to approach tough topics. Contributors include Jerry B. Jenkins, Karen Kingsbury, Francine Rivers, and many other beloved authors. All proceeds will benefit MAI, an organization that teaches writing internationally to help provide literature that is culturally relevant. "

All the proceeds from our book will go straight to MAI, short for Media Associates International, a simply supberb organization that you need to know more about. Here's a sound byte from their website: "MAI equips and nurtures talented men and women with a passion for producing Christian literature for their own people. Since its founding in 1985, MAI has equipped local Christians in 57 countries on 5 continents. As a result, we've seen budding writers developed, publishing houses grown, periodicals begun and books and magazines produced that speak to the hearts of readers in their own languages. We advance the Gospel by training Christians to produce literature that nurtures the church and attracts readers to Christ. We believe God uses the written word to transform lives."

Isn't that incredibly cool? If you are a novelist or know a novelist, this book is a must-have for lots more reasons than just your or their own growth as a writer. It's a fabulous book for a fabulous cause. And it's offered at a fabulous pre-order price on Amazon. It's official street date is November 1.

Grab one!

Hallways in the past

2009-09-11T10:47:00.000-07:00

I've long been a fan of books that begin in the present world - the world I know - but at some point usher me into some hallway of the past, perhaps for just a short detour or maybe to abandon me there altogether.

I gave it a whirl myself with The Shape of Mercy and found I really liked weaving a historical thread into my story. I have done the same thing with the upcoming White Picket Fences and next year's Lady in Waiting.

Earlier this week I finished Aussie Kate Morton's stunning The House at Riverton, an international bestseller that earned her a starred review in Publishers Weekly. Morton deftly weaves a tale that billows in and out of the past, seamlessly, effortlessly, skillfully. Just the way I like it.

Here's the book's premise: Grace Bradley is a teenager when she takes a position as a maid at Riverton House just prior to World War I. An only child, she finds herself emotionally bound to the Hartford family, especially the two daughters, Hannah and Emmeline.

In the summer of 1924, at a glittering gala held at Riverton, a young poet shoots himself. The only witnesses are the sisters. When Grace is nearing her one-hundredth birthday and living out her last days in a nursing home, she is visited by a young director who is making a movie about the poet's long-ago suicide. As Grace answers the director's queries, the reader is whisked away in flashback to Grace's youth, to the gilded days before the year and the haunting years after, and then gently led back to the present over and over to be tantalized by whispers of all that Grace knows about what really happened the night the poet died.

I loved how Morton eased the story along, planting just enough information to make me feel like a trusted confidant, but still itching to put all the pieces together. The scenes in the present never felt like intrusions, but rather moments to be let in on more of the dark secrets Grace has carried for eighty years.

Morton says: "The first part of the story that came to me was an image: a young man in the mid-1920s, standing by a dark lake on an English country estate. In the distance a party rages: fireworks, jazz music, people whooping. The young man closes his eyes, a gun sounds, and then the image fades to black. I knew that the scene would be the beginning of my book, and I also knew that though it felt like a suicide, there would be more to the young man’s story than that. That this would be the heart of my mystery."

I liked the book so well (my mom recommended it to me) I started up with Morton's second book, the newly released The Forgotten Garden a few nights ago.

And I just learned that Anita Diamant has a new book out. I loved The Red Tent and am looking forward to getting my hands on Day After Night.

Here's the scoop on this one: "Anita Diamant's new novel offers all the satisfactions found in her previous works The Red Tent and The Last Days of Dogtown: rich portraits of female friendship, unflinching acknowledgment of life's cruelty and resolute assertion of hope, enfolded in a strong story line developed in lucid prose. She ups the ante here, chronicling three months in the lives of Jewish refugees interned in Atlit, a British detention center for illegal immigrants to the Palestinian Mandate. Based on an actual event—the rescue of more than 200 detainees from Atlit in October 1945—Day After Night demonstrates the power of fiction to illuminate the souls of people battered by the forces of history."

Ah, SMBSLT!
(So many books, so little time!)

So what are you reading these days?

2009-09-04T10:45:00.000-07:00

It's always a strange day when I begin to clean up after finishing up a book. Precious yellow sticky notes get taken off every flat surface with a six-foot radius of my computer. Dogeared Google maps and images, curling at the edges from being tacked on the wall all summer, get pulled down. Research books that I've had at my feet for four months and have been tripping over, get shelved. Imaginary people whose birth dates and addresses and fears and quirks pepper my work space, are shooed away to some equally imaginary vacation spot so that we can have a rest from each other.

It is like the day after the wedding of someone you love. There are cake crumbs everywhere, and programs, and confetti, and sticky spots from unknown spills. It's messy, but you had a great time. You want to get the place cleaned up and back to normal, but still, it was a beautiful wedding and you were glad to have been a part of it.

Today, I am cleaning up after the wedding. Finally. The book has been done for a week and I am finally feeling like I am back on the planet.

For the last several months, I have had a toe in present-day Manhattan and another toe in sixteenth-century England. My present day character, forty-something Jane, owns an antique store on the Upper West Side. Her world is beginning to crumble all around her and she doesn't know why. My sixteenth-century character, Lucy, is a dressmaker to Lady Jane Grey, a teenager who sat on the throne of England for a mere nine days before her world also crumbled.

I dovetailed their two stories, linking them together with a token of the past; the kind of token an antique store owner might stumble upon. It was a wonderful odyssey, actually, writing this book, and even though there are cake crumbs everywhere and I am so ready to get out of these wedding clothes and into something comfortable, I had a great time playing time traveler.

Between now and the time this book releases (Lady in Waiting, WaterBrook, Fall 2010) I will post a few comments on what I learned along the way. Today, I shelved Tudor Costume and Fashion, an 832-page tome I stubbed my toe on more than once. But what a fun book to risk injury on.

Just listen to the description of a pair of gloves belonging to Henry VIII: "They are of soft buff leather, with cuffs or gauntlets of white satin divided into eight panels, each embroidered with flowers and leaves in coloured silks and gold thread. Each panel is edged with gold-spangled lace and lined with rose-coloured silk. Round the wrist is a ruching of the same coloured silk with gold lace."

And those were probably just the everyday gloves.

Today, I can stop thinking of farthingale hoops and passamayne and stomachers and ruffs. Like I said, I am ready to re-enter the world of flipflops and capris.

But it was a lovely wedding. . .

2009-08-28T09:28:00.000-07:00

When I was little, my older sister and I had what you might call a nightmarish aversion to the Flying Monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. For me, they were right up there with The Michelin Man (a grinning man made of white tires? C'mon. That's totally nightmare material), crocodiles, wasps, and escalators. Those airborne apes really tripped me up - for several years. And the fact that they wore those lovely red capes? Well, that was downright fiendish.

But of course they were supposed to scare young ones like me. They were (were they not?) the willing minions of the Wicked Witch of The West; an evil psychopath with all the green-ness of Kermit the Frog and none of his gentility.

We were supposed to hate her. And her monkeys. Wickedness is to be hated.

I didn't know the storyline behind Wicked the musical when I took my seat in the Upper Loge of the San Diego Civic Center last night. I just knew that everyone was raving about how good (no pun intended) it was. So I was ready for just about anything, storywise.

Behind every evil character is their past, not all of which we get to see. In fact, usually we don't. What made the Grinch's heart two sizes too small? The live-action movie-makers had to guess at the reason - societal abuse as a young Whoo - since Dr. Seuss didn't provide any back story there. And he, interesting side note, was also green. The Grinch. Not Dr. Seuss.

But it makes you think, as Wicked asks early into the play, is a person born wicked or do they have wickedness thrust open them? In the famed 1939 classic Wizard of Oz, all we ever see of the WW of the W is her black heart. There is never a glimpse of her soul until she is melting. And even then, she departs with the oddest of oxymorons.

"Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness! Oh! Look out! Look out! I'm going . . ."

Interesting lines, those. Look out for what?

It's a clever take, the storyline in Wicked, that the witch we grew up despising was someone's little girl, that there is a reason why she wears a pointed hat, and that there's a reason why her grief over her sister's death brought out the worsty worst in her.

I didn't expect to find a theme of redemption here. Nor to walk away from my seat nearly admiring those redcaped, flying monkeys.

What a world, what a world. There's so much we just shouldn't assume about the people who are green.

I know I told you I'd be sharing with you today the details of the writing project I've been working on. Pardon my wickedness. Let's try for Monday.

2009-08-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

After several months in my writing cave, I am thrilled to say I finished the book that is due to my publisher at the end of the month (and there was much rejoicing) and I will be back here on the Edge with a bit more regularity. Ain't it grand to be regular? On Friday, I'll tell you what it was I was mining for in the months in the Cave.

Today, though, I have as my special guest my good friend Maureen Lang so that she can share a bit about her new book, Look To The East. Maureen lives with her family (her husband, three kids and their lovable lab)in Illinois. She spends her days dreaming up people in faraway places, characters who live far more exciting lives than she does within the safety of her happy home. Look to the East is Maureen's ninth novel.

Maureen: I'm eager to share the news about my newest book release. Have you ever wondered how many love stories have one war or another for a backdrop? Rather than counting, I decided to plunge ahead and add a few more titles. Look to the East is the first in a three book series, each one linked by a European, First World War setting—but little else, since each one is an independent story. So come along for a glimpse back, circa early 1900's, rural France.

A village under siege. A love under fire. France 1914

At the dawn of the First World War, the French village of Briecourt is isolated from the battles, but the century-old feud between the Toussaints and the de Colvilles still rages in the streets. When the German army sweeps in to occupy the town, families on both sides of the feud are forced to work together to protect stragglers caught behind enemy lines.

Julitte Toussaint may have been adopted from a faraway island, but she feels the scorn of the de Colvilles as much as anyone born a Toussaint. So when she falls in love with one of the stragglers—a wealthy and handsome Belgian entrepreneur—she knows she's playing with fire. Charles Lassone hides in the cellar of the Briecourt church, safe from the Germans for the moment. But if he's discovered, it will bring danger to the entire village and could cost Charles his life.

This book was one of those stories that just needed to be told. Inspired by actual events in a small town in France, it was a dream come true for me to travel there for research and to absorb the atmosphere. Although my book takes place nearly one hundred years ago, the same area today is similar in many ways: picturesque little villages surrounded by a lovely rural landscape. Thankfully, there were no rumbles of battle in the distance when I was there . . .

My prayer is that the events of the past won't be forgotten, so we'll never again make the same mistakes.

Edgewise: You can learn more about Maureen right here.

See you on Friday - above ground.

2009-08-14T11:01:00.000-07:00

I am happy to tout my good friend Cindy Woodsmall's newest book today. The Hope of Refuge. Cindy and I write for the same house, work with the same wonderful editor and share a love for a good page-turner. Cindy's a remarkable soul - kind, genteel, and humble. You can find out more about her and her books here.

And here's the scoop on The Hope of Refuge:
Raised in foster care and now the widowed mother of a little girl, Cara Moore struggles against poverty, fear, and a relentless stalker. When a trail of memories leads Cara and Lori out of New York City toward an Amish community, she follows every lead, eager for answers and a fresh start. She discovers that long-held secrets about her family history ripple beneath the surface of Dry Lake, Pennsylvania, and it’s no place for an outsider. But one Amish man, Ephraim Mast, dares to fulfill the command he believes that he received from God–“Be me to her”– despite how it threatens his way of life.

Completely opposite of the hard, untrusting Cara, Ephraim’s sister Deborah also finds her dreams crumbling when the man she has pledged to build a life with begins withdrawing from Deborah and his community, including his mother, Ada Stoltzfus. Can the run-down house that Ada envisions transforming unite them toward a common purpose–or push Mahlon away forever? While Ephraim is trying to do what he believes is right, will he be shunned and lose everything–including the guarded single mother who simply longs for a better life?

Cindy Woodsmall is the author of When the Heart Cries, and the New York Times best-sellers When the Morning Comes and When the Soul Mends. Her ability to authentically capture the heart of her characters comes from her real-life connections with Amish Mennonite and Old Order Amish families. A mother of three sons and two daughters-in-law, Cindy lives in Georgia with her husband of more than thirty years.

See you on Monday. Hopefully. I am nearing the homestretch of Lady in Waiting. The last ten thousand words always make me a little loopy, sort of oxygen-deprived. If I forget to come by here, you will know why . . ,

2009-08-07T13:32:00.000-07:00

I am emerging from the darkness of the Writing Cave but only for a moment. My youngest son, 16, saw a lovely Rosy Boa slither past the sliding glass doors an hour ago - they are docile and not known to bite or try to swallow you whole - and after we marveled at its sleek movements, he went out to catch it, admire it, take a few pics, and let it go.

The snake was of course eager to be anonymous and made haste for the iceplant and juniper bushes. Half an hour later, disgruntled son was snakeless and disappointed. Why can't I catch him? he grumbled.

Because he does not want to be caught, I said.

After a couple swigs of Gatorade, son went back out to defy Nature. He came back in ten minutes later with a fetching lizard with lovely cerulean blue markings on its belly. Not exactly a snake, but we agreed he was pretty and I told him I would take his picture with it. So outside we go into the natural light and as I am taking JPGS, the lovely lizard, fed up with the photo shoot, disengages his tail to hasten his escape.

I realize this is how lizards have survived lo these many millenia. But the tail - without the lizards' body, mind you - landed on the patio and began to squirm like a fish on a hook.

Ick. Ick. Icky.

Son thought is was great. I ran into the house making gross noises. He thought that was great, too.

Ugh. Nature wins.

Back to the Cave . . .

2009-08-03T12:53:00.000-07:00

Today I am welcoming the talented and perennially perky Camy Tang to the Edge to chat about her newest book, Deadly Intent. Here's all the cool stuff about it, even a chapter excerpt! Thanks, Camy. All the best to you. . .

Deadly Intent
by Camy Tang

The Grant family's exclusive Sonoma spa is a place for rest and relaxation—not murder! When Naomi Grant finds her client Jessica Ortiz bleeding to death in her massage room, everything falls apart. The salon's reputation is at stake…and so is Naomi's freedom when she discovers that she is one of the main suspects! Her only solace is found with the other suspect—Dr. Devon Knightley, the victim's ex-husband. But Devon is hiding secrets of his own. When they come to light, where can Naomi turn…and whom can she trust?

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Excerpt of chapter one:

Chapter One

The man who walked into Naomi's father's day spa was striking enough to start a female riot.

Dark eyes swept the room, which happened to be filled with the Sonoma spa's staff at that moment. She felt his gaze glance over her like a tingling breeze. Naomi recognized him instantly. Dr. Devon Knightley.

For a wild moment, she thought, He's come to see me. And her heart twirled in a riotous dance.

But only for a moment. Sure, they'd talked amiably— actually, more than amiably—at the last Zoe International fund-raising dinner, but after an entire evening sitting next to her, he hadn't asked for her phone number, hadn't asked for any contact information at all. Wasn't that a clear sign he wasn't interested?

She quashed the memory and stepped forward in her official capacity as the spa owner's daughter and acting manager. "Dr. Knightley. Welcome."

He clasped her hand with one tanned so brown that it seemed to bring the heat of the July sun into the airy, air-conditioned entranceway. "Miss Naomi Grant." His voice had more than a shot of surprise, as did his looks as he took in her pale blue linen top and capris, the same uniform as the gaggle of spa staff members gathered behind her. "It's been a few months since I've seen you."

He still held her hand. She loved the feel of his palm— cool and warm at the same time, strong the way a surgeon's should be.

No, she had to stop this. Devon and his family were hard-core atheists, and nothing good would come out of giving in to her attraction. "What brings you here?"

"I need to speak to Jessica Ortiz."

An involuntary spasm seized her throat. Of course. Glamorous client Jessica Ortiz or plain massage therapist Naomi Grant—no comparison, really.

But something in his tone didn't quite have the velvety sheen of a lover. He sounded almost… dangerous. And danger didn't belong in the spa. Their first priority was to protect the privacy of the guests.

"Er… Ms. Ortiz?" Naomi glanced at Sarah, one of the receptionists, whose brow wrinkled as she studied her computer monitor behind the receptionists' desk. Naomi knew she was stalling—she didn't need to look because she'd checked Ms. Ortiz into the elite Tamarind Lounge almost two hours before.

Naomi's aunt Becca also stood at the receptionists' desk, stepping aside from her spa hostess duties to allow Naomi to handle Dr. Knightley, but Aunt Becca's eyes had a sharp look that conveyed her message clearly to Naomi: the clients' privacy and wishes come first.

Naomi cleared her throat. "Are you her physician?"

Dr. Knightley frowned down at her, but she kept her air of calm friendliness. He grimaced and looked away. "Er… no."

Naomi blinked. He could have lied, but he hadn't. "If you'll wait here, I can see if Ms. Ortiz is available to come out here to see you." If Jessica declined to come out, Naomi didn't want to think what Devon's reaction would be.

His eyes grew stormier. "Couldn't you just let me walk in back to see her?"

"I'm sorry, but we can't allow nonfamily members into the back rooms. And men are not allowed in the women's lounges." Especially the secluded Tamarind Lounge, reserved only for Tamarind members who paid the exorbitant membership fee.

"Naomi, surely you can make an exception for me?" He suddenly flashed a smile more blinding than her receptionist's new engagement ring.

His switching tactics—from threatening to charming— annoyed her more than his argumentative attitude. She crossed her arms. "I'm afraid not." She had to glance away to harden herself against the power of that smile.

"You don't understand. It's important that I see her, and it won't take long." He leaned closer, using his height to intimidate.

He had picked the wrong woman to irritate. Maybe her frustrated attraction made her exceptionally determined to thwart him. Her jaw clenched and she couldn't help narrowing her eyes. "Joy Luck Life Spa has many high-profile clients. If we let anyone into our elite lounges, we'd lose our sterling reputation for privacy and discretion."

"You don't understand how important this is—"

"Dr. Knightley, so nice to see you again." Aunt Becca stepped forward and inserted herself between the good doctor and Naomi's line of vision. She held out a thin hand, which Devon automatically took. "Why don't I set you up in the Chervil Lounge while Naomi looks for Ms. Ortiz?"

Aunt Becca whirled around faster than a tornado. Her eyes promised trouble if Naomi didn't comply. "Naomi."

Aunt Becca's taking charge of the conversation seemed to drive home the point that although Dad had left Naomi in charge of the spa while he recovered from his stroke, she still had a long way to go toward learning good customer relations. Part of her wanted to be belligerent toward Devon just to prove she was in the right, but the other part of her wilted at her failure as a good manager.

She walked into the back rooms and paused outside the door to the Tamarind Lounge, consciously relaxing her face. Deep breath in. Gently open the door.

Softly pitched conversation drifted into silence. Two pairs of eyes flickered over her from the crimson silk chaise lounges in the far corner of the luxuriant room, but neither of them belonged to Jessica Ortiz. Vanilla spice wafted around her as she headed toward the two women, trying to glide calmly, as the daughter of the spa owner should.

"Good morning, ladies. I apologize for the intrusion."

"Is it already time for my facial?" The elderly woman gathered her Egyptian cotton robe around her and prepared to stand.

"No, not yet, Ms. Cormorand. I've come to ask if either of you have seen Ms. Ortiz."

An inscrutable look passed between them. What had Jessica done to offend these clients in only the couple of hours she'd been at the spa? Jessica seemed to be causing the spa more and more trouble recently.

The other woman finally answered, "No, she left about a half hour ago for her massage. I thought she was with you."

Naomi cleared her throat to hide her start. Jessica's appointment was at eleven, in fifteen minutes, not now.

"Yes, doesn't she always ask for you when she comes?" Ms. Cormorand blinked faded blue eyes at her.

Naomi shoved aside a brief frisson of unease. Jessica should be easy to find. "Which massage therapist called for her?"

"Oh, I don't know." Ms. Cormorand waved a pudgy hand beringed with rubies and diamonds. "Someone in a blue uniform."

Only one of almost a hundred staff workers at the spa.

"Thank you, ladies. Ms. Cormorand, Haley will call you for your facial in fifteen minutes." Naomi inclined her head and left the room, trying to let the sounds of running water from the fountain in the corner calm her growing sense of unease.

Where could Jessica have gone? And an even juicier question: Why did Devon Knightley need to speak to her?

She peeked into the larger Rosemary lounge, which was for the use of spa clients who were not Tamarind members. Several women chatted in small groups, but no Jessica Ortiz. Naomi hadn't really expected Jessica to forgo the more comfortable elite lounge, but the only other option was checking each of the treatment rooms individually.

She headed into the back area where the therapy rooms were located, navigating the hallway scattered with teak and bamboo furniture, each sporting East Asian cushions and throws, artfully arranged by Aunt Becca. Had Jessica switched to a different massage therapist? And had someone forgotten to tell Naomi in the excitement of Sarah's new engagement?

As she moved down the hallway, she started noticing a strange, harsh scent suffusing the mingled smells of san-dalwood and vanilla. Not quite as harsh as chemicals, but not a familiar aromatherapy fragrance, a slightly discordant counterpoint to the spa's relaxing perfume.

She knew that smell, but couldn't place it. And it didn't conjure up pleasant associations. She started to hurry.

She first looked into the women's restroom, her steps echoing against the Italian tile. No sound of running water, but she peeked into the shower area. A few women were in the rooms with the claw-foot bathtubs, and a couple more in the whirlpool room, but no Jessica. No one using the toilets.

The mirrored makeup area had a handful of women, but again no Jessica. Naomi smiled at the clients to hide her disappointment and growing anxiety as she entered. She noticed some towels on the floor, a vase of orchids a little askew, and some lotions out of place on the marble counter running the length of the room, so she tidied up as if she had intended to do so, although the staff assigned to restroom duty typically kept things spic and span.

She peeked into the sauna. A rather loud ring of laughing women, but no Jessica.

Back out in the central fountain area, the harsh smell seemed stronger, but she couldn't pinpoint where it came from. Had a sewage pipe burst? No, it wasn't that sort of smell. It didn't smell rotten, just… had an edge to it.

She entered the locker area, although the Joy Luck Life Spa "lockers" were all carved teakwood cabinets, individually locked with keys. The smell jumped tenfold. Naomi scoured the room. Maybe it came from a client's locker? No. Maybe the dirty laundry hamper?

Bingo.

She flipped open the basketweave lid.

And screamed.

***

Chapter Two

The scream pierced Devon's eardrums. Beside him, Becca Itoh started. The heavy wooden double doors she'd just opened, leading to the men's lounge, clunked closed again as she turned and headed back down the corridor they'd walked.

"Where—?" He kept up with her, but not easily—for a woman in her fifties, she could book it.

"The women's lounge area." She pointed ahead as she hustled closer. "Those mahogany double doors at the end."

Devon sprinted ahead and yanked open the doors. "Stay behind me."

Becca ignored him, thrusting ahead and shouting, "Naomi!" as they entered a large circular entry area with more corridors leading from it. "Naomi!"

A door to their right burst open and Naomi Grant spilled into the entry room. "Aunt Becca!" Her face was the same shade as the cream-colored walls. "There's blood in the women's locker room.”

“Blood?” Becca reached for her as Devon pushed past her into the room she’d just exited.

Despite the urgency, he couldn’t help but be awed by the fountain in the center of a vast chamber with a veined-tile floor. Scrollwork signs on the walls pointed to “sauna” and “whirlpool” and “locker room.” Luckily, no women appeared. He veered right.

He almost wasn’t sure he’d actually arrived in the right place, but the carpeted room lined with teakwood locking cabinets was in line with the luxurious entry hall of what he realized was the women’s bathroom.

The metallic smell of blood reached him. He followed his nose to the basket hamper in the corner, filled with bloody towels. It reminded him of the discarded gauzes from his orthopedic surgeries, bright red and a lot more than the average person saw.

This was not good.

He returned to the two women. Naomi’s hands were visibly shaking, although her voice remained low and calm. “And I couldn’t find Ms. Ortiz.”

Jessica’s name still caused the reflexive crunching of his jaw. But he’d never wanted any harm to come to her—she wasn’t a bad person, they had just clashed too much on personal matters. And now she was missing, and there was an immense amount of blood in the bathroom. Devon’s heart beat in a light staccato against his throat. She had to be okay.

“Where else have you looked?” He scanned the other corridors leading from the fountain entryway. He’d need guidance or he’d get lost in this labyrinth.

“I haven’t checked the therapy rooms yet.” Naomi nodded toward the larger central corridor, which ended at another set of double doors.

He headed toward them when Becca reached out to grab his arm in a bony but strong grip. “You can’t just barge into private sessions.”

“Why not?” He turned to face the two women. “There’s blood in your bathroom and Jessica Ortiz is missing.”

Naomi’s light brown eyes skewered him. “Do you really think it’s wise to cause a panic?”

“And I suppose you have another option?”

“Sessions don’t last more than an hour or ninety minutes. We’ll wait for those to finish—if Jessica’s just in one of those, there’s nothing to worry about. In the meantime, we’ll check all the empty session rooms,” Naomi said.

Becca turned to leave and said over her shoulder, “I’ll check on the schedule at the receptionists’ desk to find out which rooms have clients and when the sessions end. I’ll call you on your cell.”

Naomi turned down a corridor in the opposite direction, this one lined with bamboo tables draped with shimmery, lavender-colored fabric so light that it swayed as they moved past.

It reminded Devon of the papery silks he’d seen in Thailand, giving the spa a soothing and very Asian atmosphere. His heartbeat slowed. Jessica was probably fine and had accidentally taken someone else’s session in her artless, friendly way. She’d emerge from a facial or a manicure in a few minutes and wonder what all the fuss was about.

A group of three therapists turned a corner. They spied Naomi and immediately stopped chatting amongst themselves, although not fearfully—more out of respect that the boss was suddenly in front of them.

“Girls, have you seen Ms. Ortiz?” Naomi’s smile seemed perfectly natural and warm—inviting a rapport with her staff, yet not too cozy. If Devon hadn’t noticed her fingers plucking at the linen fabric of her pants, he wouldn’t have known how anxious she was.

Two of them shook their heads, but the tall blond woman to his left nodded and pointed directly across the corridor. “I saw her talking to Ms. Fischer about an hour ago before Ms. Fischer went in for her manicure.”

His heartbeat picked up. “An hour ago?”

The blonde eyed him with a hard look, but a quick glance at Naomi seemed to allay her suspicions. He had the impression that if her boss hadn’t been by his side, he’d have been thrown out, even if it took all three women to do it.

Naomi was shaking her head. “Ms. Cormorand saw her leave the Tamarind lounge only thirty minutes ago.”

His hopes popped and fizzled.

The blonde jerked her head at the nearby door. “Ms. Fischer is almost done in room thirty-five if you want to talk to her anyway.”

“That’s a good idea. Thanks, Betsy.”

Betsy nodded, and the silent trio headed down the corridor and around the corner.

Copyright © 2009 by Camy Tang
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.