Holly Michael's Writing Straight

~ Connecting and Inspiring Along Life's Crooked Lines by Author Holly Michael

Holly Michael's Writing Straight

Tag Archives: Inspiration

France…a spiritually uplifting trip

10 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by Holly Michael in Books, Christianity, Holy Catholic Church - Anglican Rite, Inspiration, Journeys: In Writing and Life, Photography, Travel

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Anglican, Anglo-Catholic, Anglo-Catholicism, Bernadette Soubirous, Bishop Leo Michael, Chateau fort de Lourdes, Christianity, Crooked Lines, elisa Amati, Father Luca de Pero, France, grotto, Holly Michael, Holy Catholic Church Anglican Rite, Immaculate conception, Inspiration, inspiring, Jesus Christ, Lourdes, Lourdes France, Our Lady of Lourdes, Spirituality, Tsunami 2004 Still Wading Through Waves of Hope, Virgin Mary

Sad to hear the news of the terrorism in France. My husband and I were just there in November–in Lourdes, a few days stop-over our way to India. The visit was amazing and spiritually refreshing.

Given the sadness of the muslim extremist’s attacks on Paris, thought it would be a good time to share some photos of the beauty and spirituality of France, in Lourdes, about a seven hour drive south of Paris.

A view from the top of Chateau fort de Lourdes

A view from the top of Chateau fort de Lourdes and below, looking up at the castle.

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More views from the top of the castle

More views from the top of the castle

climbing a steep staircase to the top of the castle

climbing a steep staircase to the top of the castle

Love the narrow, quiet streets. Me and My husband, Bishop Leo Michael

Love the narrow, quiet streets. Me and My husband, Anglican Bishop Leo Michael

Our wonderful friends, Elisa Amati and her husband Father Don Luca drove all the way from Northern Italy to join us. We had a blast!

Our wonderful friends, Elisa Amati and her husband Father Luca de Pero drove all the way from Northern Italy – about 15 hours drive – to join us. We had a blast!

Streets of France

Streets of France. Elisa had a map. We would find our restaurant!

My husband, Bishop Leo Michael, Me, Father Don Luca, and his wife, Elisa Amati at the Our Lady of Lourdes Grotto

My husband, Bishop Leo Michael, Me, Father Luca de Pero, and his wife, Elisa Amati at the Our Lady of Lourdes Grotto

Our Lady of Lourdes grotto was our planned destination and it was an incredible spiritual experience. More photos:

In 1858 Bernadette Soubirous, a 14-year-old peasant girl said that a "lady" spoke to her in the cave of Massabielle (a mile from the town) while she was gathering firewood with her sister and a friend. Similar apparitions of the alleged "Lady" were reported on seventeen occasions that year, until the climax revelation of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception took place. Bernadette Soubirous was later canonized as a Saint, and many believe her apparitions have been validated by the overwhelming popularity and testament of healings claimed to have taken place at the Lourdes water spring.

In 1858 Bernadette Soubirous, a 14-year-old peasant girl said that a “lady” spoke to her in the cave of Massabielle (a mile from the town) while she was gathering firewood with her sister and a friend. Similar apparitions of the alleged “Lady” were reported on seventeen occasions that year, until the climax revelation of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception took place. Bernadette Soubirous was later canonized as a Saint, and many believe her apparitions have been validated by the overwhelming testament of healings claimed to have taken place at the Lourdes water spring.

Bernadette

Bernadette Soubirous

Night at the grotto

Night at the grotto

An amazing blessing. Look to the left of the statue, considering the crevice a mouth. Do you see the face of Christ. We only saw this on our last night at the grotto

An amazing blessing. Look to the left of the statue, considering the crevice a mouth. Do you see the face of Christ? We only saw this on our last night at the grotto. Peace and Holy Spirit filled this beautiful holy place.

During one of the apparitions, Bernadette was told to by Our Lady "go drink at the spring and wash yourself there". Shortly after the first pilgrimages began Louis Bouriette was cured. He had lost his vision and washed in the miraculous water where he regained his vision.

During one of the apparitions, Bernadette was told to by Our Lady “go drink at the spring and wash yourself there”. At the time, the spot above place was nothing but a place in the dirt. Then, the spring miraculous bubbled up. Shortly after the first pilgrimages began Louis Bouriette was cured. He had lost his vision and washed in the miraculous water where he regained his vision. Through the years, many have been cured at the miraculous water of Lourdes. The water still runs and pilgrims can collect the water at faucets near the grotto.

The Basilica of Lourdes

The Basilica of Lourdes, built over the top of the grotto

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Where Bernadette was baptized

Where Bernadette was baptized

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My husband and Father Don Luca celebrating Mass.

My husband and Father Luca de Pero celebrating Mass

Father Don Luca and Elisa

Father Luca de Pero and Elisa

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Saints everywhere :-)

Saints everywhere 🙂

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Father Don Luca and Bishop Leo Michael walking up the hills toward the stations of the cross

Father Luca de Pero and Bishop Leo Michael walking up the hills toward the stations of the cross

Speaking of the Stations of the Cross, I plan to write and publish a Stations of the Cross book using some of my photos from Lourdes. Really excited about that project.  I’m also working toward finishing my sequel to Crooked Lines. (below)

Beautiful beach and seaAfter we left Lourdes, we went to South India to visit the places and people we helped after the 2004 Tsunami. After returning home, I published my then and now book, Tsunami 2004 – Still Wading through Waves of Hope. Some fascinating stories and pictures from the time of the 2004 Tsunami and after. We’d helped more than two hundred orphans after a national fundraising event. It was really great to return ten years later and visit the people and places and write their stories. Tsunami 2004 is now available on Amazon in Kindle and in print.

While in India, on our follow-up trip, we faced a horrific experience when my husband contracted dengue fever from a mosquito bite and nearly died. But, then and now, we held onto those peaceful blessed days at Lourdes and the wonderful fellowship with Father Don Luca and Elisa. ***

bookFor this weekend Crooked Lines, my novel, is on sale for .99 CENTS. Here’s the blurb: On the shores of Lake Michigan, Rebecca Meyer seeks escape. Guilt-ridden over her little sister’s death, she sets her heart on India, a symbol of peace. Across the ocean in South India, Sagai Raj leaves his tranquil hill station home and impoverished family to answer a higher calling. Pushing through diverse cultural and religious milieus, he labors toward his goals, while wrong turns and bad choices block Rebecca from hers.
Traveling similar paths and bridged across oceans through a priest, the two desire peace and their divine destiny. But vows and blind obedience at all costs must be weighed…and buried memories, unearthed.

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It’s My Birthday…

08 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by Holly Michael in Books, Crooked Lines, Family

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

#1 Inspirational Fiction, best-seller, Bestseller, Betsy Byrne, Bishop Leo Michael, Crooked Lines, Holly Michael, Holy Catholic Church Anglican Rite, India, Inspiration, Jake Byrne, nagapattinam, Nick Byrne, Novel, Tsunami, tsunami 2004, Tsunami Still Wading through Waves of Hope

…so, I put CROOKED LINES, A Novel for sale  @ .99 cents. http://amzn.to/1r4gTrT AND its #1 in Inspirational, Fiction, Family on AMAZON.COM

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Happy because…had a great time with the kiddos. Congrats to Jake on his engagement to Emma, on his right. (Just love her). Daughter Betsy (WTG 4.0 in Grad School) to the left of Jake. My husband, Bishop Leo Michael, to my right and Nick (WTG Winning the New Orleans Bowl! Go Ragin Cajuns). Nick is the bookend wearing the hat.

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Counting my blessings at the beginning of 2015. There are so many. Started it out with a newly published book after our return from India. Tsunami 2004 Still Wading Through Waves of Hope: http://amzn.to/1AbgKXD

Beautiful beach and seaFeeling grateful to God that my husband survived dengue fever which resulted in a multi-organ failure situation. Truly, only prayers turned that around. We were at the tail end of a ten-year follow-up with the orphan children we helped after the 2004 tsunami. (thanks to those who gave during major fundraising effort back in 2004)

In the end, got the nonfiction book wrote and published. Tsunami 2004 – Wading through Waves of Hope is filled with inspirational then and now stories as we revisited the places and people in Nagapattinam, South India. $2.99 Kindle, $6.99 print.  http://amzn.to/1AbgKXD

Hope to get back to more blogging this year where I focus on connecting with others. Thanks for following my blog.

Holly

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Need Inspiration? First Chapter Challenge

03 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by Holly Michael in Books, Crooked Lines, India, Inspiration

≈ 5 Comments

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Amazon, America, Australia, Barnes and Noble, best selling inspirational novel, Bestseller, bestselling inspirational novel, book, Christian Fiction, Crooked Lines, fiction, FlipKart, Google Play, Holly Michael, India, Inspiration, Inspirational novel, Kobo, Kobo Australia Inspirational Fiction, Literary Fiction, Novel

Need Inspiration? Last week, Crooked Lines reached #1 on Amazon in an inspirational category. Take my first chapter challenge: Read the first chapter of Crooked Lines. If you like it, click the appropriate link to read on. Happy reading 🙂
Crooked3 (1)Crooked Lines, Chapter One

Rebecca Meyer White Gull Bay, Wisconsin, Summer 1985

It didn’t occur to me at the edge of the pond that I’d broken the sixth commandment, actually committed murder. I was busy working out a deal with God, swearing to Jesus I’d become a nun if He helped me breathe life back into my baby sister’s limp body. At the time, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t Catholic.

Now, a week after the funeral, Mama set me straight while flipping pancakes in the kitchen. “Daddy blames you for Kara’s death.” She said it like I’d let the milk spoil because I hadn’t put it back in the fridge, but the weight of her words cemented my bare feet to the green linoleum.

She reached for a platter and set it under the open window. The morning sun highlighted old stains, batter spills, and cracks on the brown laminate countertop. A cool morning draft rustled the faded yellow gingham curtains. Mama got a deal on that material from Woolworths before Kara was born. Along with curtains, she sewed four sundresses for each of my sisters and me. It wasn’t fair that the fabric was still with us, fluttering over the sink, yet Kara came and went as quickly as the wind.

Mama transferred pancakes to the plate.

My plan to breeze through the kitchen and escape the house unnoticed should have succeeded because for a week, I’d been a ghost. None of the people in the house—my parents or any of my brothers and sisters—spoke to me. I’d lived a cloistered existence with my blue notebook and unsettling thoughts.

Now, I only wanted to sit under the maple, read the Kara stories, and wind back time.

I tightened my arms around the notebook, holding it to my heart like a talisman, as if my words of love for my sister could erase the raw sting of truth in Mama’s words. Since that day at the pond, I’d been carrying that notebook everywhere, even sleeping with it. In my lake of sadness, in my whirling murky thoughts, those sacred pages had become my life preserver.

Mama snapped the griddle knob off and faced me. “We left her with you that morning. She was only seven.” Her words rushed out in a seething whisper. My shoulders fell and hope slid from them and disappeared out the kitchen window.

Only a month ago in my white cotton confirmation dress, I cited the Ten Commandments and professed my faith at St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church.

So confident. So holy. Mama baked a cake.

Now, because of me, Kara was dead. I tugged a loose string on the frayed edges of my cut-offs, then looked back up at Mama. Her short blonde hair was a tangled mess. Her red-streaked eyes shot angry darts laced with sadness. C’mon Mama. Don’t you get it? The deep muddy waters consumed Kara. She’s gone, but I’m here, still drowning.

I ran my big toe over a rip in the linoleum, wanting to bolt, take off and run as far and fast as my long legs would carry me, but Mama’s eyes told me she had more to dish out. I sucked in my breath, stuck out my chin, and met her stare, my five-foot eight-inch frame matching hers. I could take it.

But she walked away, left me standing there. Every fiber in my soul told me to run after her, beg forgiveness, and cling to her legs until she hugged me and told me everything would be okay. That’s what mothers were supposed to do. But no longer a child, those days were over. I winced when the slam of her bedroom door, like a gavel, sentenced me.

“Becca, bring the pancakes.” Tom rose from the dining room chair and waved his fork.

“Hurry up!” Bobby pounded a fist on the oak table. “I’m starved.”

At least one thing at home remained the same; after morning barn chores, my brothers only cared about food.

My limbs loosened. With shaking hands, I grabbed the platter, set it on the table, then tore up the stairs—two at a time. I didn’t look at my brothers. They probably blamed me, too.

In my bedroom, I kicked a pile of dirty clothes and hit something solid, a tennis shoe. I crouched and peeked under my bed. The other. Good.

I kissed the notebook, then stuck it under my pillow. I’d started writing Kara stories in it a week before she died—the funny and intuitive stuff she’d said and done. I even taped her photos inside the pages. How could I have known to do that right before she died?

Tugging on my shoes, I wondered if the Holy Spirit had prompted me to create the Kara notebook when I was still a child of God. He’d visited me once. I remembered Him, not ghostly and elusive, but someone so real. Someone who loved me.

When I was six, He came to me in the meadow. I danced and sang for Him. I couldn’t see Him, but He was there. In my yellow butterfly dress, I laughed and twirled with the dandelion seeds, my blond hair bouncing in the breeze as I basked in His immense love. I stretched my hands high and offered songs of thanks for the creator of the ladybugs, the zippy dragonflies, and the warm summer sun.

God knew me. I knew Him.

But that was then.

I rested my foot on the vanity bench, tied my laces, then looked into the mirror. Eyes dull and ringed by dark circles stared at me, not my bright green ones. Since that day at the pond, I slept in fitful interludes in the hallway in front of the door, me and the notebook with my pillow and a blanket.

I wanted to sleep in my bed, but Kara and I had shared the room since she was born. Every night she left her bed, crossed the room, stood beside me, and called my name until I woke and lifted the covers, inviting her in.

Standing outside the door each night, my fears would grow and shrink me from a teenager into a child, scared Kara’s ghost would come knocking.

What if she came to my bedside and called my name? Would her eyes have the same accusing stare as Mama’s had? Did she hate me, too?

Chills tickled the back of my neck. I yanked the other shoestring tight, then fled downstairs and out the front door. At the end of the driveway, I turned and ran past the silos toward Lake Michigan. Tears blurred my vision as I ran past fields and farmhouses, cows and cornfields, apple orchards and cherry trees. I ran past evergreens, Indian Paintbrushes, Queen Anne’s Lace, and Black-eyed Susans. Fuzzy cattails poked from marshy lowlands.

Miles later, when grassy ditches turned sandy and the scent of pine replaced the earthy smell of cow manure, I slowed. At Evergreen Lane, I shoved the bad stuff out of my head, leaned against the weathered fence post, and kicked off my shoes.

Summer bungalows loomed over the tops of cedars on both sides of the gravel pathway that allowed public access to the beach. A few silhouettes—like mannequins in store-fronts—faced the lake. Who were they? What did they think? And where would they fly back to before the first flakes of winter fell. Those lucky visitors came to the peninsula of White Gull Bay to escape from places I’d never been, places I’d always longed to run to.

The whoosh and trickle of the whispering waves beckoned me to the shoreline. Gulls screeched and circled around dead glittering minnows. Chilly water rolled over my feet and lapped my ankles.

I scanned the beach for glass stones, bent over and picked up a round flat black one. I tried to skip it, but it sailed straight into a small cresting wave. No luck today.

A long ship crept across the horizon, cutting a path between the cerulean sky and the blue-green lake. Next week, Daddy would be out there sailing on one of those iron-ore freighters. He only came home when November gales churned the icy waters and during spring planting and fall harvest—and for a death.

I watched the vessel disappear until guilt rode on the waves like bobbing driftwood and landed on the shore before me. Daddy would miss Kara sitting on his lap on the John Deere. I didn’t blame him for hating me. I didn’t blame Mama. Kara was the baby, the ninth. I was the seventh. Seven wasn’t a lucky number.

My legs quivered. I sat, hugging my knees. Tears plopped tiny craters in the sand. I was guilty. A sinner with no hope because it was worse than anyone knew. I couldn’t admit to anyone all that had happened at the edge of the pond. How could I say I knew Kara would die that day and I did nothing to stop it? How could I talk about the way I freaked out and ran away when I saw her form in the murky water, even though I knew I’d find her there?

My childhood was over.

“Where do I go from here?” A wave rolled in and nearly swallowed my small voice.

Ignoring the plaintive cries from the screeching gulls, I stood, straightened my shoulders and looked to the horizon. Only two more years of high school. I’d plan. Work hard. I had one thing going for myself. Everyone considered me the smart one because I got good grades and read a gazillion books. Yes, I was smart, smart enough to figure out my escape. I’d find a place of peace, far from White Gull Bay and the awful stuff I’d done.

Then, I’d find someone, somewhere, who’d love me.

***

Sagai Raj, Sheveroy Hills, Tamil Nadu, South India, Summer 1985

“Sagai, wake up. It’s time.”

He opened his eyes. His father, kneeling on the dirt floor beside his reed mat, held out a small tin cup. Sagai reached for the milky sweet coffee. In the soft glow of the hurricane lamp, he sat, sipped, and glanced around the room at the curled, sleeping forms.

His father struggled to his feet with a grunt. Limping since last year’s bicycle accident at Little Lake, he hobbled toward the door, lifted the metal latch, and disappeared into the predawn darkness. Sagai admired the elder man’s quiet noble manners, his wise words, and the kindness he showed toward everyone. Had he caused his worry?

He slid his hand under his mat and pulled out the invitation. After a month at camp, he’d been chosen. He’d been carrying the postcard around for a week, praying his father would give his blessings. Time was running out, school would begin soon, and his destiny did not lie in Sheveroy Hills.

Soft snores from his mother and siblings filled the room. He stepped around them, kissed his fingertips, then touched the Sacred Heart of Jesus picture on the wall by the doorway, as he did every day.

In the small courtyard, the cow mooed and shifted, full with milk. “Don’t worry Muttura Madu, you’ll be milked soon.”

He stepped beside his father, almost shoulder to shoulder now. Appa heaved a deep sigh, then turned and faced him with an outstretched palm.

“Appa?” Sagai rested his hand on top, then his father covered it. An unspoken message of love. Top hand covering and protecting, the bottom holding and supporting.

“You’re my seventh child. Seven is a good number, a heavenly number. My hope was that you, the smart one, could become a doctor and help the family—”

“But—”

Appa raised a finger. “—but God has a different plan.” His tone sounded peaceful, accepting. “Now, run along.”

He let go of the breath he was holding. “I may go? Truly?”

“Yes, son. You may go. You will leave on Saturday.”

Sagai bent down and touched Appa’s cracked calloused feet. He pressed the postcard to his pounding chest, then returned to the house and tucked it in the edge of the framed picture of Jesus. He rushed outside, said goodbye to his father, and stepped onto the narrow cobblestone road. Unable to hold back any longer, bubbling laughter rose from his chest and escaped into the misty morning air. He raised his arms toward heaven as he ran, thanking God for this true blessing.

For the past eight years, God’s love had pulsed through his soul, fueling his zeal as he ran the four miles each way, every morning. God’s love came with the morning’s rays, His kiss in the whisper of a breeze on hot afternoons, His presence in the mist that settled over the Tamil Nadu hill station at dusk. And as Sagai sloshed through pounding rains during monsoon season on roads reduced to muddy footpaths, the Lord never left his side.

Now, Sagai’s smile wrapped around his heart and traveled to his feet, hastening his momentum. The five o’clock Muslim call for prayer reverberated in the hills when the road became packed dirt. The chants, low and monotone, interrupted the lulling crickets and broke the sleepy quietness of the night. He ran over another hill, then down, leaping over slushy mud holes in low areas.

A cock crowed. Another answered, encouraging dawn to break. They always crowed right before his half-way point—the Hindu shrine. At the base of the huge Banyan tree with its intertwining aerial root vines dwelled a Hindu deity, a huge cobra coiled in a snake pit. A shock of hair tacked to the tree indicated a recent exorcism. Instead of speeding past in fear of the snake striking his legs, Sagai stopped. At age fifteen, about to leave home forever, he shouldn’t shake like a small child at this place.

Today, he would defeat his fear. Under the dim streetlamp, he forced his gaze into the ebony eyes of one of the two angry soldier statues that guarded their deity. A tongue sticking out from the huge oblong face challenged him.

Frowning, he looked from one statue to the other. “You two aren’t so frightful.”

A rustling in the bushes shot a jolt of fear through him that rattled his bones and made his heart nearly thump out of his chest. He tore past the shrine, made the sign of the cross and sent a flying prayer to Jesus. On the way back, in daylight, he’d look those horrible fellows in the eye and tell them he wasn’t frightened of them or the snake.

Alongside the old stone fence dripping with purple bougainvillea, he ran. Tamil hymns blasted from homes and out of church doors. “O Jesus you are my all. O what a joy…” Only the Protestants could shower the streets with their hymns like that. The tune stuck in his head all the way to Little Lake, where dawn had painted a pale orange streak over the calm surface.

Fascination and fear of Little Lake slowed his pace. Last month his cousin happened upon a dead body floating in the water. The source of life-giving water lured suicidal villagers as well as recreation seeking Brits and rich Indians who came to Sheveroy Hills for holiday. Their grand bungalows stood like jewels around the lake.

He often wondered what their eyes beheld when they looked out from their fancy homes. Did they see his cousin, the boatman who offered a leisurely ride for two rupees? Did they notice Sagai and his brothers catching fish for Amma’s curry? Where did these visitors return to when God breathed His peace into them from this fertile hill station of monasteries, convents, and spirituality centers?

Bells chimed from the tower of the Catholic mission church, alerting Sagai. Six chimes meant he must arrive at the silver Mahatma Gandhi statue in the town center. He ran…one…two…three…faster…four…five…and six. Gandhi came into sight.

He ran past the statue, past Jack fruit trees, past cypress entwined with pepper vines, and orange groves. A grey stone fence, now speckled with tiny blue flowers continued to snake along the curvy pebbly road. At Pullathachimedu, Pregnant Ladies Hill, he sped by the resting stone. No time to rest. The bell at the novitiate gonged. Fifteen minutes to go. The white steeple spiked over the top of the umbrella trees, sliced with morning sunbeams and decorated with bright orange flowers.

Reaching the wicket gate just in time, he witnessed nearly one hundred novices in habits, slightly bowing and silently processing, two by two, into the church. He slipped in after them. Mosaic tiles cooled his tired bare feet. Thanks to God and his landmarks, he’d made it on time to assist Father Louis at Mass.

In the sacristy, Sagai tightened the cincture rope around the red cassock, then pulled on his white surplice. When a very small boy, he had held mock Mass at home. Amma would pin one towel to his front and one to his back—his chasuble. Circles cut from cardboard served as the host, fruit juice as wine. He’d light two candles and arrange everything on a small table. Vijay, his younger brother, acted as altar server. By age six, he had memorized all of the prayers of the Mass.

Now, ready for the real service, Sagai knelt before the crucifix and promised to stay on his path toward holiness and keep all of God’s commandments. He rose when Father Louis arrived to vest, and handed the priest his cincture, stole, and chasuble.

After the service, Sagai shuffled his bare feet in the dirt at the wicket gate, watching the retinue of nuns file into the refectory. Waiting made him feel like a beggar. If he left, Sister Mercy would think her daily offering of a few slices of bread was not appreciated.

Peals of laughter drew his attention across the road. The private school had already begun their quarter. Two enormous lion statues guarded the compound beside the white pillars that shot up to a high arch where St. Alban watched over the village hill station atop a golden dome. Fenced in by black wrought iron, school children—Brits and rich Indians—in suit jackets, ties and long pants, trickled out of the dormitory for breakfast.

Sagai slid his hand inside his shirt where the two buttons were missing, then tugged the frayed edges of his faded shorts, patched in the back. Sometimes after serving at Mass he’d watch the boys put on leg pads and knee guards, and use real bats on their lush green field. At his school, on the other side of the village, they used a flat stick and played cricket barefoot on a rocky uneven patch.

Hoofs tapped the hard packed dirt road. A cow plodded past.

Sagai rubbed his rumbling stomach and returned to the wicket gate. He was tempted to pluck fruit from the guava tree, or at least pick up one of the many that lay on the ground rotting, but that would be stealing. A sin. The cow, not knowing better, could eat the fallen fruit. He should not.

He knelt and picked up a small round stone and rolled it in his hand. Perfect ammunition. Those pesky monkeys, now awake and watchful, were known thieves. Would knocking one of those screeching troublemakers out of a tree be a sin? Before he could ponder further, a young novice approached, smiling.

“For you.” She smiled and handed him a package.

“Thank you.” An entire loaf of bread. Enough to share with all at home. Sister Mercy must have asked her to give it to him. The novice bowed, nodded, and walked away.

Before he could run, Sister Mercy marched toward him. She eyed the loaf tucked under his arm. Her nostrils flared. Smack. Her palm cracked against his cheek.

“Thief!”

“No, Sister.” He pointed, blinking back tears. “That novice gave it to me.”

Sister Mercy wagged her finger. “Even so, you know that I usually give you bread. You should not have accepted it.” She snatched the loaf from Sagai and thrust her slices at him.

He turned and ran all the way to Little Lake without stopping, horrified he’d be branded a thief. Would his future lie in jeopardy?

On the grass beside the water, he stared at the bread. He never went to church to get free bread. He went to serve. He rubbed his cheek. A monkey eyed him from a rock. Sagai tossed the bread. “Have it. I don’t want it.”

He wouldn’t mention the incident to anyone. He prayed that Sister Mercy wouldn’t report it to Father Louis.

A flat black stone caught Sagai’s eye. He skipped it on the lake. One, two, three, four times it bounced before sinking. Lucky day. He leapt to his feet and ran toward home. God would make sure his dream came true. He’d been chosen. He would go to seminary and become a priest. His older brothers and sisters dropped out of school by seventh standard, but surely Vijay would do the needful—finish school, and go to college. He must. Someone had to take care of the family. His place was no longer in Sheveroy Hills.

Want to read the rest? Crooked Lines is available at these places:

Amazon.com

Barnes and Noble

Kobo Books (Selling well on this site in Australia)

Google Play Books

FlipKart (India and other countries)  Or search for books, Crooked Lines

Hope you enjoy!

 

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Another Great Day!

26 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by Holly Michael in Betsy Byrne, Books, Crooked Lines, Diabetes, Family, Football, Jake Byrne, Nick Byrne

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Bestseller, Bestseller in Kindle, Betsy Byrne, Bragging, Crooked Lines, football, Holly Michael, Inspiration, Jake Byrne, Kids, NFL, Nick Byrne, Novel, type 1 diabetes

Sorry, readers…heading to the finish line on the devotional that Jake and I are writing together (contracted with Harvest House): First and Goal to Go: What Football Taught Me About Never Giving Up. Deadline: SEPTEMBER 1st!! So, I’ve only had time for quick posts of top priority, like bragging about my kids. Sorry, I’m a mom. It’s something I can’t control sometimes. Especially when they are type one diabetic and score touchdowns in the NFL!!! (post before this one.)

Okay, I’ll stop. Well, I can’t! Sorry, I just have to brag one more time. Well, maybe two more times. But, look at how cute adorable Betsy is! It’s her 23rd Birthday today!!!

Image (1)And she’s in grad school and teaching through a graduate assistantship job! Not only cute, but smart! Happy birthday, Betsy!!

meandbooOk, one more tiny brag. Totally can’t forget Nick, that cutie-pie!. He’s just starting the football season at the University of Louisiana-Lafayette. So, I’ll hold off on posting a picture, because it’s Betsy’s day, but I’m sure he’ll feature here soon, probably running into the end zone for a touchdown. Congrats to all the cuties! Love you all and so proud!

Ok, back to that devotional!

Oh, wait! I forgot to brag about myself! Crooked Lines made #1 in the Inspirational Fiction category on Amazon yesterday!!!

Crooked3 (1)Woohoo! The Kindle version price is lowered to $1.99 just for today, so if you haven’t got it yet, now is the time!!

So…now, I really got to get back to edits! I’m done bragging, I swear!

 

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Great Day!!

24 Sunday Aug 2014

Posted by Holly Michael in Books, Christianity, Crooked Lines, Football, Inspiration, Jake Byrne

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Chargers, Church, Crooked Lines, Faith, Holly Michael, Hope, India, Inspiration, Jake Byrne, NFL, Novel, San Diego Charger, Spirituality, tight end, touchdown

San+Diego+Chargers+v+Seattle+Seahawks+ICLcPDab_0BlToday is a great day for several reasons! First all, because it’s Sunday! The day of the Lord…and…

…secondly, this cutie above is playing the San Francisco 49ers today. Last week Jake had his first touchdown against the Seahawks!

Go Jake! Do it again! #proudmom (gotta use that hashtag on #gameday).

Game time: 3:00 pm CT

Isn’t he a cutie?

houston2

AND…

…since I’ve recently launched my debut novel, CROOKED LINES, I chose today as a KINDLE sale day!

Crooked Lines is only $1.99 today!

Church. Football. Then a good read. 🙂 Great way to spend Sunday…oh, and if you missed church, Crooked Lines is a spiritually themed book, so you’ll get some good inspiration, along with a some drama and a bit of mystery.

Crooked3 (1)Here’s the blurb for CROOKED LINES and the link to buy it at KINDLE, HERE and below the blurb, too.

On the shores of Lake Michigan, Rebecca Meyer seeks escape. Guilt-ridden over her little sister’s death, she sets her heart on India, a symbol of peace.

Across the ocean in South India, Sagai Raj leaves his tranquil hill station home and impoverished family to answer a higher calling. Pushing through diverse cultural and religious milieus, he labors toward his goals, while wrong turns and bad choices block Rebecca from hers.

Traveling similar paths and bridged across oceans through a priest, the two desire peace and their divine destiny. But vows and blind obedience at all costs must be weighed…and buried memories, unearthed.

Crooked Lines, a beautifully crafted debut novel, threads the lives of two determined souls from different continents and cultures. Compelling characters struggle with spirituality through despair and deceptions in search of truth.

CLICK HERE FOR CROOKED LINES KINDLE DEAL OF THE DAY and have a GREAT DAY!!!

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THE SHEPHERD’S SONG: The Writing Sisters Link Hearts Together with Psalm 23!

06 Tuesday May 2014

Posted by Holly Michael in Books, Christianity, Weekly Book Review

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Betsy Duffey, Blog, Book Review, Good Shepherd, He makes me lie down in Green Pastures, Holly Michael, I shall not want, Inspiration, inspirational book, Inspirational novel, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Laurie Myers, Psalm 23, The Lord is My Sheperd, The Shepherd's Song, Writing Sisters, www.writingstraight.com

Duffey_Myers300 (1)

I grew up reading Newberry winner Betsy Byars‘ books (the mom of these beautiful ladies on the left). Read them to my children, too. (I always liked the name Betsy. It’s my sweet daughters name!)

Imagine my excitement to discover the daughters of Betsy Byars-Betsy Duffey and sister Laurie Myers-had teamed up with their mother to write more children’s books and the two continued on as the “Writing Sisters.” They went on to become authors of more than thirty-five children’s novels.

NOW…GUESS WHAT?

Betsy Duffey and Laurie Myers (above left) have teamed up with Howard Books and have published their first book for adults, “THE SHEPHERD’s SONG,” an inspirational novel about second chances. LOVED IT! (See my review below).

The Shepherd’s Song: Follow the incredible journey of one piece of paper–a copy of Psalm 23–as it travels around the world, linking lives and hearts with its simple but beautiful message.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures…

Shortly before a tragic car accident, Kate McConnell wrote down the powerful words of Psalm 23 on a piece of paper for her wayward son. Just before she loses consciousness, Kate wonders if she’s done enough with her life and prays, “Please, let my life count.” Unbeknownst to Kate, her handwritten copy of Psalm 23 soon begins a remarkable journey around the world. From a lonely dry cleaning employee to a soldier wounded in Iraq, to a young Kurdish girl fleeing her country, to a Kenyan runner in the Rome Invitational marathon, this humble message forever changes the lives of twelve very different people. Eventually, Kate’s paper makes it back to its starting place, and she discovers the unexpected ways that God changes lives, even through the smallest gestures. With beautiful prose evocative of master storyteller Andy Andrews’s The Butterfly Effect, this story will touch your heart and remind you of the ways God works through us to reach beyond what we can imagine.

WRITING SISTERS AUTHOR INTERVIEW

Holly: What inspired you to come up with this fantastic book idea?

Betsy & Laurie: The idea for The Shepherd’s Song began in a small coffee shop in Madison, Georgia, where we meet every week to write. That morning we prayed for God to reveal our next writing project. Up till that time we had written children’s books individually and together and we thought we had come to the coffee shop to plan our next children’s book.  Betsy had read the 23rd Psalm that morning in her quiet time that day. We had both committed our writing to God and began to think the Psalm would be a good subject for a book. The problem was we couldn’t see it as a children’s book. As children’s writers it was hard to imagine writing a book that was longer than 64 pages! We knew that we could only do it with God leading us. The more we talked about the idea the more excited we became and we finished drafts of the first two stories that day.

Holly: The characters and places seem so real. Tell me about your research?

Betsy & Laurie: The physical traits of the characters come from people that we see, a stranger on the street or people that we know. The emotions of the character come from our own feelings. Since we were writing about people in different cultures we used readers from each culture to guide us and help to stay true. The locations were fun to research. We used some familiar locations in the book, Laurie had recently visited Italy and Betsy lived several years in Turkey. The others we explored through video and pictures.

Holly: What is your writing strategy, working together as sisters?

Betsy & Laurie: We discovered early on that we had to have spiritual agreement to have unity on the page.  In collaboration there will be differences of opinion, which are good and bring growth and depth to the work.  It is in the resolution of the disagreements that our faith is exercised. We decided that we would never go forward in any area of writing or publishing without agreement.  We begin each writing session with prayer and are constantly submitting the work to God. Staying in harmony with God keeps us in harmony with each other.  We can do more together. As we constantly try to align our work with God’s will, we align ourselves with each other.

Holly: Besides your mom, which writers inspire the two of you?

Betsy & Laurie: We have been readers all our lives from our first book mobile! During the writing of The Shepherd’s Song two books stand out as significant. First, Andy Stanley’s Visioneering. We read and worked through this book together as we defined our vision for writing and learned how to work together. The second book was Mark Batterson’s Draw the Circle, The 40 Day Prayer Challenge. We used this devotion together for forty days to develop spiritual unity in our work. We also love to read for fun and are constantly sharing books as we meet each week. Christian classics and contemporary fiction are our favorites.

Holly: Next projects?

Betsy & Laurie: When we decided to write for God we chose a verse to be a mission statement for us: We will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord. Psalm 78:4 We love using fiction to show how God works in the world and we are continuing to write using Scripture as a catalyst for change in our stories. Our next book focuses on the Lord’s Prayer and we are learning so much as we study and research this great prayer.

sheepMy review: Get ready for an inspirational journey across the world with The Shepherd’s Song, a well-crafted novel that uses the 23rd Psalm, written on a slip of paper, to bring well-developed characters and readers close to the heart of God. Like me, you’ll want to keep this captivating book on your nightstand with your Bible. After you read it, you’ll pick it up again and again.

The prose is exceptional. The characters, believable.  The plot, inspiring.

My blog’s theme is based on connections. I love how Duffey and Meyers used the 23rd Psalm to masterfully connect the characters across the globe.

Though the twelve stories are short, the writing sisters creatively and ingenuously draw the reader into the lives of seemingly real people. Their emotional journey becomes yours as you feel for them in their struggles and cheer them on when they grasp the love God expresses to them through the lines of the psalms.

The Shepherds Song is a great book to give as a gift or to use for a Bible study or book club discussion group. I can’t give it less than five stars!

So happy to share this blog about The Shepherd’s Song after Good Shepherd Sunday!

LINKS

www.WritingSisters.com

www.facebook.com/WritingSisters

The Shepherd’s Song

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Rich Maffeo’s: My Very Own Frankenstein Monster

24 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by Holly Michael in Books, Christianity, Inspiration

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Blog, book, Christian, christian author, contemplative catholic, forgiven, Holly Michael, Inspiration, lessons along the journey, Rich Maffeo, Spirituality, www.writingstraight.com

rich maffeoRich Maffeo is one of my favorite Christian authors. He blogs over at The Contemplative Catholic Convert. I found a lot of spiritual wisdom in his well-written, inspiring blog post today and asked his permission to reprint it here.

Here’s the blog in its entirety:

I published this essay in my book, Lessons Along the Journey. I re-posted it to my blog about a year ago. The incident below occurred decades ago, but from time to time I talk with people who, like Robert, cannot (or choose not to) believe God’s great love and forgiveness could be directed toward them. To everyone else, yes. But not to and for them.  After a more recent conversation along these lines, I thought to re-post this again. There are still many Christians who need the reminder.

————-

I think that if God forgives us, we must forgive ourselves. Otherwise, it is almost like setting up ourselves as higher tribunal than Him. — C. S. Lewis

 MY VERY OWN FRANKENSTEIN MONSTER

          The  shadowy figure darted behind a tombstone and peered steadily into the darkness. When he was satisfied no one had spotted him, he thrust his shovel into the fresh grave — again and again. Soon, his spade thudded against the casket. A few minutes later, he lifted the corpse onto his shoulders and grunted.

Dr. Frankenstein would be pleased.

I’m surprised I still remember the 1950s horror film. Dr. Frankenstein zapped the cadaver with a bolt of electricity and brought the dead back to life. Unfortunately, the monster ended up terrorizing the countryside.

Have you noticed how our culture seems preoccupied with death? Surf the TV most evenings or browse the sci-fi section in online streaming sites. The titles may surprise you. Even some Christians seem preoccupied with restoring life to things that ought to stay dead.

Robert is a good example. He has a bad habit of digging around in graveyards — mostly his. He called me some time ago in a state of depression, “How can God forgive me?” he pleaded. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

That was not the first conversation I’d had with him over the same theme. I’ve lost count of the times Robert has called for assurance of God’s forgiveness. And each time I remind him of Scripture’s promises, he responds with his characteristic, “Yes, but.”

As he spoke, a mental image of the Frankenstein monster formed as Robert again dug up his past — a past covered by Christ’s blood. I watched him piece together one old sin after another, assembling them into a monster that terrorized him and his family.

This time, though, I could not find fault only with my friend’s needless despair. With seamless precision, my thoughts propelled me toward my own graveyard where “Yes, but” is etched on several tombstones.

Like Robert, I know Scriptures that assure me of God’s forgiveness. So why do I dig around in my past, piecing together my own monster? Why do I permit the creature that Christ put to death be resurrected and wreak havoc on my life and hurt my relationship with God and with others?

I know why. Sometimes I doubt our Father’s trustworthiness. I am skeptical that Christ’s sacrificial death could cover my despicable sins. So, I revive my past, lifting each sin onto my shoulders as if to say, “Lord, if you really knew what I’ve done, you would never forgive me.”

On the other end of the line, Robert’s litany of reasons why God was angry with him gained momentum. With each passing thought, he dug himself deeper into the Yes, but pit until I couldn’t take anymore.

“Robert,” I interrupted.

He stopped talking and I reminded him again — myself as well — of the promises which stand more sure than Earth itself, of promises more secure than any anchor, of promises that transcend all of our “Yes, buts”:

“So whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). “[Therefore], now there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20).

Scripture after Scripture, promise after promise swirled though my mind and slipped across my tongue. I don’t know if they helped Robert, but I know they helped me to once again place my monster back into the crypt. By God’s grace, I will leave it there. Life is too short, and the laborers too few, to waste time and energy carrying a dead man around on my shoulders.

God says to the penitent: Forgiven. Satan whispers: Guilty.

Whom will we believe?

Here’s a link to Lessons Along the Journey, for more great spiritual readings.

lessons

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Jake Update and a Very Cool Romans 8:28 Situation

07 Tuesday Jan 2014

Posted by Holly Michael in Christianity, Diabetes, Family, Football, Jake Byrne

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

Chargers, diabetes, Faith, God, Hope, Inspiration, Jake Byrne, NFL, NFL Player with diabetes, Romans 8:28, San Diego Chargers, tight end, Type One Diabetes

Haven’t blogged much lately due to holidays and writing commitments, but I have been splashing photos and news on Facebook about Jake (my NFL player son).

A fantastic Romans 8:28 story! (And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.)

Even if you saw this on Facebook, here’s the story behind the story.

We’ve all had those moments when life is going great, plans are coming together, sun is shining, and bluebirds are singing on our shoulder, then BAM! We get slammed with the unexpected. Instead of bluebirds, feels like life is giving us the bird.

Happened like that a few weeks ago for Jake. He was cut by the Houston Texans. As a mom, my heart went out for the uncertainty he felt regarding his career and future. (And given his career is in the NFL, unfortunately he’s had these moments before).

I prayed for him, asking God for His perfect plan for Jake’s career and life (as I do for all of my children.)

Side line note

Secret to life as I know it:

1. Pray Submit yourself, your situation to God.

3. Trust. Trust God can work all things for his good. (Romans 8:28)

4. Thanks. No matter what your feeling, give God thanks for hearing your prayer. Because He’s God and you’re not, trust He will take care of things and don’t forget to thank Him.

Then let go!

That secret to life has never failed me. And it’s what both Jake and I did.

Then, BAM! Jake was picked up by the Kansas City Chiefs on practice squad. I live in Kansas City! How cool is that? What are the chances?

While I relished in the mom role again (doing Jake’s laundry and feeding the big boy), as always, I know that God’s plans are always even better that we can imagine.

So….after only one week in Kansas City, The San Diego Chargers signed Jake onto their roster. While I loved having him here, I kind of thought he’d get snapped up fast by a team who needed his skills.

image

And of course, the move is great for his career.

Imagine, being cut from a losing team, then getting picked up by a winning team now in the playoffs. Jake is playing more and has a greater role in the offense with the Chargers.

Jake (#81-Tight End) had a fantastic game this past Sunday against the Cincinnati Bengals. Really good plays and outstanding blocks! Chargers won!

See how happy Jake and his teammates are. Photo from http://www.chargers.com

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So, this Sunday Jake will play in Denver against the Broncos. Please keep him in your prayers and cheer on #81 and the Chargers!

houston2And back to Romans 8:28…God can work all things to the good, even for a kid diagnosed with Type One Diabetes in high school who wondered if he’d even be able to continue playing football. God has a plan for this guy, who also spends his time encouraging youth with type one diabetes.

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Isn’t he cute? Follow Jake on twitter @sugarfreejb82

Isaiah 40:28-31 says, Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom.  He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.  Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;  but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

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Proud Mom Moment

23 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by Holly Michael in Diabetes, Family, Football, Inspiration, Jake Byrne

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

diabetes, Houston Texans, Inspiration, Jake Byrne, Joey Balistrieri, Type One Diabetes

jake89

Fox News TV segment about Joey, a 12 year old boy with type one diabetes and Jake, my diabetic Pro football player son who mentored him. Sweet!

http://fox6now.com/2013/07/22/pro-football-player-helps-boy-with-diabetes-live-his-dreams/

 

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Interview: Best-Selling and Award Winning Author Dan Walsh! Yahoo!

30 Thursday May 2013

Posted by Holly Michael in Books

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

ACFW, ACFW-Kansas City, American Christian Fiction Writers, Author, award winning Christian books, best-seller, Christian Fiction, Christian Love Story, Christian Novels, Christian Romance, Christianity, Christmas Novels, Clean Reads, Dan Walsh, forgiveness, Gary Smalley, Historical Novels, Inspiration, Leave out the parts readers skip, Love, Novels, redemption, Remembering Christmas, Restoration Series, romance, The Dance, The Deepest Waters, The Discovery, The Homecoming, The Promise, The Reunion, The unfinished Gift, Theme of Forgiveness, Theme of Love, Theme of Redemption, Themes of Forgiveness, Writing, writing advice, Writing Tips, www.danwalshbooks.com, www.writingstraight.com

Recently, we were super-blessed at our local Kansas City chapter of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW)! Best-selling and award-winning author Dan Walsh (also an ACFW member) skyped into our monthly meeting from his home in Florida. He spoke about the craft of writing, and answered a few of our questions.

(Psst…hang in there for a HUGE SURPRISE to come).

poster

Dan Walsh writes contemporary and historical novels–mostly love stories and family-life dramas. He’s been called “the Nicholas Sparks of Christian Fiction,” and is often compared to Richard Paul Evans. Currently, he’s working on a novel with Dr. Gary Smalley (family counselor, president and founder of the Smalley Relationship Center and author of books on family relationships from a Christian perspective).

AND…Guess what? Here’s the HUGE SURPRISE!

betsy2 (2)

(I love using this picture of my kids. Hee Hee)

I contacted Dan after the ACFW meeting and he granted me a personal interview! Woohoo! I’m so honored, especially since he’s also done interviews with media such as USA Today.

(Maybe my interview isn’t that big of a surprise since I put it in the title. ;-))

But before we delve into the interview, I’d love to share my story of how Dan Walsh’s books recently impacted my life.

About a week after our ACFW meeting (where I first met Dan Walsh via Skype) I suffered a very painful back/nerve injury. Couldn’t walk for weeks, then only with a walker. During my down time, I turned to Dan Walsh’s novels that I’d purchased on my Kindle. I devoured them like candy for the soul. Read three of them, then bought a few more. His books became my new addiction. I even gave up Candy Crush and that is one addicting game!

cc

Dan Walsh’s books are way better than crushing candy. His fascinating plots and lovable characters stick with you. Sounds cliché-ish, but Dan’s books sucked me in from the first page, captured me, and held me to the last page and beyond.

DW

For days, I lived in Dan Walsh’s novels with these wonderful, believable characters. Themes of forgiveness, redemption, and love cut through my pain and warmed my heart. Like I said, soul candy. With all sincerity, each one of these books blessed me in its own unique way.

And in my condition, grounded and in pain, I didn’t feel like writing. But thanks to Dan Walsh, I was not only captivated as a reader, but also inspired as a writer. Often “Aha” moments popped into my head on how to really write well.

I’m anxious to get to the interview with Dan, but first, take a quick look at a few of his inspirational books:

Deepest WatersTHE DEEPEST WATERS, based on real events, is an epic tale of a shipwreck and two lost lovers. What began as a fairytale honeymoon in 1857 for John and Laura Foster aboard the steamship SS Vandervere becomes a nightmare when a hurricane causes their ship to sink into the murky depths of the Atlantic. Laura finds herself with the other women and children aboard a sailing ship while John and a hundred other men drift on the open sea on anything they could grab as the Vandervere went down. Suspecting her John is gone but still daring to hope for a miracle, Laura must face the possibility of life alone–and meeting her new in-laws without their son if she ever reaches New York. The Deepest Waters is an emotional and honest story of hope, faith, and love in the face of uncertainty. I read this one without stopping for food or sleep. Actually lost weight this day. Yay. Double blessing!

The Reunion

THE REUNION. Aaron Miller was an old, worn-out Vietnam vet, a handyman in a trailer park. Forty years prior, he saved the lives of three young men in the field only to come home from the war and lose everything. But God is a master at finding and redeeming the lost things of life. Aaron is about to be found. And the one who finds him just might find the love of his life as well. Loved it! I wanted to morph into this book and hug these characters. They were people with real guts, who made me cheer them on, laugh and cry. 

The disc

THE DISCOVERY. Gerard Warner was not only a literary giant whose suspense novels sold in the millions, he was also a man devoted to his family, especially his wife of nearly 60 years. When he dies he leaves his Charleston estate to his grandson, Michael, an aspiring writer himself. Michael settles in to write his own first novel and discovers an unpublished manuscript his grandfather had written, something he’d kept hidden from everyone but clearly intended Michael to find. Michael begins to read an exciting tale about Nazi spies and sabotage, but something about this story is different from all of Gerard Warner’s other books. It’s actually a love story. This masterfully crafted book was my fav! Good thing I was stuck on the couch because I could not have tolerated setting down my Kindle in the middle of this one.  

unfinTHE UNFINISHED GIFT. Set at Christmastime in 1943, The Unfinished Gift tells in an engaging, simple style the story of a family, and reminds us of the surprising things that affect powerful change in our hearts–like a young boy’s prayers, a shoebox full of love letters, and even an old wooden soldier, long forgotten. This nostalgic story of forgiveness will engage readers everywhere. Don’t wait for Christmastime to read this one. It’ll make a wonderful Christmas gift, though. A can’t go wrong gift for women and men alike! Wonderful!

HCTHE HOMECOMING is a sequel to The Unfinished Gift. No sooner is Shawn Collins home from the fighting in Europe than he’s called upon to serve his country as a war hero on a USO bond tour. Others might jump at the chance to travel all around the country with attractive Hollywood starlets. But not Shawn. He just wants to stay home with his son Patrick, his aging father and to grieve the loss of his wife in private. When Shawn asks Katherine Townsend, Patrick’s former social worker, to be Patrick’s nanny while he’s on the road, he has no idea how this decision will impact his life. Could it be the key to his future happiness and the mending of his heart? Or will the war once again threaten his chances for a new start? More heartwarming time with already beloved characters. And I loved the historical aspect.

CHRISTMASDWREMEMBERING CHRISTMAS. Rick Denton lives his life on his terms. He works hard, plays hard, and answers to no one. So when his mother calls on Thanksgiving weekend begging him to come home after his stepfather has a stroke, Rick is more than a little reluctant. He’s never liked Art and resents the man’s presence in his life, despite the fact that his own father abandoned the family when Rick was just twelve. When what was supposed to be just a couple of days helping out at the family bookstore turns into weeks of cashing out old ladies and running off the homeless man who keep hanging about, Rick’s attitude sours even more. Still, slowly but surely, the little bookstore and its quirky patrons–as well as the lovely young woman who works at his side each day–work their magic on him, revealing to Rick the truth about his family, his own life, and the true meaning of Christmas. With skillful storytelling, Dan Walsh creates a Christmas story that will have readers remembering every good and perfect gift of Christmas. Another engaging heartwarming read to be enjoyed any time of the year.

***

And now onto what we’ve all been waiting for: Dan Walsh!

 

hm1Holly: Welcome Dan! I’ve enjoyed many of your books and can’t wait to read more. Now, you’re co-authoring a book with Dr. Gary Smalley.

Can you tell us a little about these new books and how that writing relationship came to be? (Sorry, that’s two questions in one)

Dan Walsh

Dan: Sure Holly. The Dance is the first of four books in the Restoration series I’m writing with Gary. It begins with what might appear to be a normal, healthy Christian family; but appearances can be deceiving. Jim and Marilyn Anderson have been married for twenty-seven years but, in many ways, their family relationship has been built on shifting sand. Like that metaphor Jesus uses in the gospels, throughout The Dance and the other books in the series the “winds and rains and storms” will beat against their house, and it falls. When the book opens, Jim is shocked to find Marilyn has left him, but not for another man. The things that have caused their marriage to drift to the point of collapse are very common things that can happen and do happen in many marriages. But the heart of the story, and the other books in the series (which will feature each of their adult children) is restoration. We will explore credible ways that God uses to mend lives and restore shattered dreams.

Sorry, that was a long answer. Hard to summarize four books in a few lines. The shorter answer to your second question is that Gary had decided he wanted to do another fiction series similar to the wildly successful Redemption series he did with Karen Kingsbury. So he set his team on a mission to find someone who’s writing affected him the way Karen’s did. The outcome of that search led them to me. They gave Gary my first two novels to read. He called them while on a speaking trip a few days later saying he couldn’t put the books down and they had him crying at the end (in a good way). They called my publisher and extended an invitation to me, which I quickly accepted.

Gary-and-Dan-on-cover-of-Family-Fiction-233x300

Holly: Pretty cool that you made Gary Smalley cry. It’s a goal of mine to make a famous person cry someday. Speaking of making men cry, you write romance, but after reading your books, I’m convinced that men would enjoy your books as much as women would, maybe even shed a few man tears. “They” say men don’t read romance, but besides Gary Smalley, do you find men among your many fans?

Dan: I think many men don’t read romance, sadly, because men don’t typically read books written by women. It shouldn’t be that way, but there it is. And men won’t read a book with a cover that even looks like a book written for women. Which is why Gary and I objected to the direction the publisher wants to go with the Restoration series. We’ve written these books with more of a 50/50 focus, for both husbands and wives. They are deferring to the market reality, which we agree is true, that 80% of fiction readers are women. Hopefully, wives who love The Dance will be able to prevail upon their husbands to read it, too. We’re also aware that many men use Ereaders like the Kindle, so they don’t have the fear of people seeing them read a book with a woman on the cover.

As for my other stand-alone novels, I do get a lot of feedback from men who really love my books (my other covers are more neutral). But still, I would say the ratio seems more like the 80/20 ratio I just mentioned.

Holly: I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms now and am super-anxious to read more of your books. Please share what’s upcoming.

Dan: Book 2 in the Restoration series, The Promise, is finished and due out in September. I’ve finished another standalone novel set in 1962, called What Follows After, due out next spring. At the moment, I’m writing Book 3 with Gary, then I’ll keep writing Book 4 after that. That should keep me busy for the next eleven months. Beyond that, I have one more Christmas novel to write on my contract (I already have 5 more book ideas roughed out for my next proposal, Lord willing).

Holly: Wow, you’re a prolific writer. As a full-time writer, how much time do you spend each day actually writing?

Dan: A typical day for me begins with a quiet time, then I spend about three hours taking care of all the miscellaneous support tasks for my writing life. Such as: emails, social media, marketing and publicity activity, etc. Then I’ll take a short break for lunch and spend the rest of the day writing the next chapter in my current book. So the actual time spent writing is about 4-5 hours.

Holly: Better let you get to writing then! Thanks for agreeing to this interview. It’s been a pleasure and I’m sure my blog readers will enjoy your books as much as I did. 

***

Wow! So cool to interview the famous Dan Walsh. This expert story-teller also shared some gold nuggets of good writing when he Skyped into our ACFW meeting. I must share them.

Dan said, “My favorite writer’s quote is by NY Times bestselling author Elmore Leonard, who said: ‘In your writing, try to leave out the parts readers skip’.”

Wonderful advice! The notes below (from the Skype meeting with Dan) are keys to becoming a really good writer and also are a pathway to nabbing the dream agent:

Self-Editing

  • One of the greatest challenges is not actually the writing part, the creative part. It’s what happens after, as we try to get our book ready for the market.
  • After the conferences, the how-to books, the critique partners, it comes down to you and what you put on the page. We don’t possess the ability to see ourselves accurately (the flawed lens). We must become an editor before we get an editor (actually, before we even get an agent.
  • The plight of agents and editors today:
  • So many manuscripts, so little time (consider the math…a reality check. They are not rejecting you, just what you write. This is actually good news (something you can change)

Beware Your Literary Heroes

  • Could Classic Authors even get an agent today? Consider Dickens…
  • Great writing is great writing, but the world (and our audience) has changed.
  • A concern about imitating contemporary heroes, too. Maybe you’ve seen some boring parts in some bestselling books and wonder if what I’m saying is really true (Hey look, these guys got published). You are not a bestseller, you don’t get to break the rules (not now anyway).

More on “the part readers tend to skip.”

  • Confession Time: “How many of you skip past the boring parts in books you buy?” Most of us do. What do you do when books have too many “skipping parts?”
  • Agents and Editors are readers, too. Remember the earlier point? Their time crunch?
  • What do you suppose they do if your first chapter has “skipping parts?” What if the first chapter doesn’t, but they start showing up as they read on?
  • On the flipside (the positive side)…what do you think they do when a book has no skipping parts? They keep reading…and reading…then ask for more (that’s what you want).

This is why it’s critical for us to learn how to Self-Edit, especially how to recognize the Parts Readers Skip.

Recognizing Where and When to Snip (and a little about Why)

  • Regarding the Setting…think movie scenes.
  • Regarding the Characters themselves:
    • Old way – every time you introduce a new character, take a paragraph or two to tell us what they look like. New way – don’t do that, anymore (a definite skipping part).
    • A sentence or two, here and there at most, as part of a character’s thoughts, or work it in small doses during dialog.
    • Showing vs Telling. Again, think movie scenes, not some narrator off to the side interrupting the action with clever observations.
    • RUE – Resist the Urge to Explain (imagine intelligent people are buying your books, who don’t need everything explained to them).
    • Make your characters sound like real people saying real things people might actually say. Not like proper British nobility or bad actors in B-movies. Goal is to make a prospective agent or editor forget they are reading a book.
    • Read your dialog out loud (or let someone else read it back to you out loud).
    • RUE in Dialog.
    • He said/she said….works for me. Don’t use “creative” speaker attributions; this is not the place for creative writing. (“Don’t go,” he fumed. “I love you,” she gushed)

Some great books Dan Walsh (and I) recommend:

  • Self-Editing for Fiction Writers – Renni Browne and Dave King
  • Write Tight – William Brohaugh
  • Revision and Self-Editing – James Scott Bell

Dan Walsh’s Closing Tip – Instructions for Test Readers or Critique Partners

Our worst enemy once we think our manuscript is done is not our critics; it’s us, and our craving for compliments. Pick a handful of trusted people who chain-read fiction. Asked them to use both a pen and a yellow marker (or the electronic equivalent). Pleaded with them to write or mark the following:

  • Any place you either skipped or were tempted to skip.
  • Anything that slowed the story down or bored you.
  • Any place you had to read more than once to understand.
  • Any dialog that sounded phony or artificial (like bad actors talking).

They will see things as they read, and they will have constructive/negative things to say. It’s up to you to convince them you really want and need to hear it. Then take all that good advice, get out the scissors, and begin to snip, snip, snip. Give your manuscript a total makeover.

scisosr

***

Wonderful advice. And now, to end this post on a note of inspiration, Dan gave me permission to re-post one of his blog posts. This one really spoke to me during my recovery from my injury:

Feeling Weak and Overwhelmed? A Great Place to Be 

by Dan Walsh

I feel weak sometimes. No, I feel weak a lot.

I wasn’t always like this. For many years, I felt strong and confident. As it turns out, it was an illusion. I was like the Emperor in that Hans Christian Anderson story, “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” He isn’t wearing anything but, blinded by pride, he doesn’t see it.

Now I do see it, and it’s made me aware of my weakness on a regular basis.

Here’s an example: I’m beginning to write my 10th novel this week. Seven of the other nine are already published by major publishers (Revell and Guideposts). Novels eight and nine are in the pipeline, due out in 2013. I’ve already won three Carol awards (book-of-the-year). All of my novels have received rave reviews in magazines, blogs and on Amazon. I’ve been asked to co-author a fiction series by a mega bestselling author (Gary Smalley). My most recent novel has been optioned by a movie producer who has made several Hallmark films.

You’d think I’d feel confident inside as I set out to write a novel #10. But I don’t. I feel weak. I have doubts about whether I can do it again. What if I can’t? It’s my livelihood now. People are depending on me. What if the well runs dry? What will I do then?

Where does such weakness come from? Was something missing from my childhood? Have I experienced some traumatic things as an adult that have eroded my self-confidence? The answer to both of these questions is “yes.” But that’s not why I feel weak.

The real reason I feel weak, I believe, is a kindness from God. It’s not something I should dread but something I should celebrate. God, in His mercy, has lifted the veil of false confidence and self-sufficiency to help me see my true condition before Him.

By design, I was made (you were made) to walk in a dependent relationship with God. It was Adam’s fall that created the illusion that we can make a success of things on our own. The truth is, God created us for intimate fellowship with Him. This need we have for Him is built-in, intended to continually draw us toward Him.

We are hard-wired for dependence. And that is why we feel weak, when we feel weak. The good news is, because of Christ, the strength we lack is continuously available and in abundant supply. But we won’t benefit from this if we continue to walk in the illusion of strength (or should I say delusion of strength). We must learn the secret Paul learned, learn to become content with this feeling. In fact, woe to us if we ever lose the sense of weakness, because it’s the very thing that draws us near to God.

Here are two scriptures that quickly come to mind:

“Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Cor 12:8-10, NLT)

“Not that I was ever in need, for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.” (Phil 4:11-13, NLT)

How about you? Feeling weak and overwhelmed lately? Where does your heart go when you feel this way? May I suggest you go where Paul suggests? I’ve tried to make this my habit now, and it’s made a HUGE difference in my life.

Lord, thank you for creating us this way, as dependent needy creatures. Help us not resent it but see it from Your perspective…as the very thing that draws us closer to You. Thank you for every situation–including the difficult people and circumstances–that make us more aware of our need for You. Fill us with your love and peace, and Your strength. Strengthen our grip on Your Hand. Thank you for always being there, day or night, no matter what. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

(NOTE: To read the other posts in this devotional feature of my blog, select “Perfect Peace — Hope for the Weary Soul” in the Category section.)

***

Dan Walsh: http://danwalshbooks.com

The Dance – Top Pick from RT Reviews/Released April 1st!
The Reunion – 4.5 Stars/Top Pick from RT Reviews
The Discovery – “A sublime delight that shouldn’t be missed.” – USA Today
Remembering Christmas – CBA, ECPA & Amazon Bestseller
The Deepest Waters – 2012 ACFW Carol Award winner

Thanks again Dan Walsh for sharing so much wisdom and thanks blog readers for stopping by.

Holly

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Done this: Regular freelance ghostwriter and online editor for Guideposts for Teens/Sweet 16 Magazine, creator/editor of a magazine for Wal-Mart Corp., journalist, newspaper features writer, published in a variety of national magazines and local newspapers, script writing/editing for corporations. Doing this now: author of fiction and nonfiction, blogger, and editor of Koinonia Magazine. I’m the wife of Rt. Rev. Leo Michael, an Anglican Bishop in the Holy Catholic Church-Anglican Rite. Mom to three great kids: Nick (#81 Rajin Cajuns), Betsy (Super cute professor) and Jake (T1D & NFL player) Also, enjoy my travels extensively across the United States and internationally.

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