Abingdon Press Manuscript Guidelines

Abingdon Press publishes 20-24 fiction titles each year. Our focus is on contemporary romance, historical romance, women’s fiction, suspense/thrillers, and speculative/visionary fiction. We do not publish Young Adult books or novels based on spiritual warfare, apocalyptic, or “end times” themes.

We only accept submissions from established agents and writers who meet with the editor at writers conferences.

We seek well-developed and original plots that are subtly layered with spiritual themes and ethical virtues. The characters must be complex and diverse people who experience faith, doubt, joy, loss, freedom, addiction, and more. Plots, conversations, and scenes should focus on the emotional aspects of relationships but should not include physical descriptions of sexual activity; voyeuristic or excessive descriptions of violence; “shock language” that profanes the worth of human beings or other living creatures.

A Few Tips for New Authors

• Manuscripts should be complete and between 85,000 and 90,000 words in length.
• Please be able to pitch your story in 25 words or less.
• Please be able to pitch yourself as an author in 25 words or less.
• Before you arrive at a pitch session, please be able to answer the following questions about your story:

o Why will the reader fall in love with your lead character(s)?
o What is the lead character’s primary goal in the book?
o Who (or what) opposes the goal? Why?
o What’s at risk if the goal is not accomplished?
o How has the lead character changed by the end?

Cover Shoot, Part 1

Shooting a book cover involves a lot of folks.

Most of the Abingdon Fiction covers are composite layouts designed using stock photos, appropriate type fonts, and graphic elements. We employ some of the best designers in the business, but one element that they often have trouble finding are photographs that work with a book's story. Especially historical romances.

There are some things Photoshop just can't fix.

So this season we decided to shoot our own models for two of our covers: Myra Johnson's Whisper Goodbye (featured today) and Karen Barnett's Out of the Ruins (next time).

Whisper Goodbye is set in post-WWI Hot Springs, Arkansas, and Myra's heroine is a young, girl-next-door redhead named Mary. Pamela Clements, Associate Publisher for Abingdon's Christian Living and Fiction lines (and thus my boss), recruited one of her daughter's friends, Grace, to place the role of "Mary." Grace was perfect!

We hired Jason Dodson of Created Images as the photographer. I met Jason when I was teaching American Lit at Nossi College of Art a few years ago, and his portrait and fashion work impressed me (and continues to do so). He hired a make-up artist and hair stylist who had worked with him on previous fashion shoots.

Then I went to a local costume house, Performance, that I had worked with when I was doing community theater. I pulled a WWI nurse's uniform and cap. On Monday, July 1, we all went to work.

Hair and make-up took about 90 minutes. Then Jason begins giving his assistant Jeremy and Grace instructions. Jeremy, also a skilled photographer added some helpful suggestions as well.

This is Jason, our make-up artist (who was AWESOME), Pamela Clements, and Grace.

The hair stylist responds to the request to make Grace's up-do fluffier. Mary has thick curly hair that she has to keep pinned up on the job. 

More instructions to Grace about what to do in order to produce the right facial expressions. Jason is extremely good with suggestions on what to think and how to tense certain muscles to render the right look.

A make-up touch-up. Mary didn't need to look TOO made up. Lighter lipstick shades weren't readily available in the early 20s, and the darker shades would make "Mary" look too "tarty." We wanted a look that said, "I care about my appearance, but I'm not vain or crazy about make-up."

Jeremy performed all kinds of gyrations to hold reflectors in just the right place to produce the right shadows on Grace. Notice the big clip at Grace's waist? She's TINY! We had to clip her uniform so that it would stay in place and fit her correctly in front.

Everyone's watching.

Pamela and our creative director (she's in charge of covers) Mary Johannes check out the progress so far.

Of the dozens of shots Jason took, we chose this one as our final.

And how it looks on the cover.

And here are the first two books in Myra's "Till We Meet Again" series.

This is a series that we're really excited about launching. Set just as the First World War is ending, it follows what happened to the people who struggled to return to lives and loves forever changed by what they'd been through.

Next time: Out of the Ruins!

Why I've Started Posting Flash Fiction

Every now and then, I'll be posting a flash fiction piece on my author/editor Facebook page. I love flash fiction; it's like a refreshing dip that you treat yourself to in the middle of a hot day. A little step into a breeze.

Flash fiction is also a great training tool. To make it clear, flash fiction is NOT an abbreviated story. It's a finished story, with a complete plot structure, full characterization, and a nice beat at the end. As with every story, some are better than others. But writing in order to convey an enjoyable and satisfying tale in less than 100 words, the process can sharpen and amp up your skills for longer pieces.

As with all stories, some are better than others. Some of mine will be better than others.

Mostly I do it because I have an endless supply of ideas, and some are more conducive to quick tales than novels. They tend to bubble over at times, so I thought I'd put them to good use. Through the years, I've discovered there's always something new just over the horizon. Especially the next idea.

(I should probably note at this point that I have more than 300 unsold short stories in a box at home and four times that many rejection letters for them. Almost as many on my computer. My "graduate training" in fiction has been pretty extensive.)

I hope you enjoy them.

Why I'm Killing My Website

Sometime in the next week or so, my website at www.ramonarichards.com will disappear. This wasn't an easy decision to make, but it is one I've contemplated for a long time. 

First, I want to emphasize that this has nothing to do with my website designer and host, Bemis Promotions. Liz and Sienna have been fabulous, and I highly recommend them and their company for websites, etc. Please check out their website for more information.  

I'm closing the website for three main reasons: backlist availability/utility of the site; time; visibility.

1. I do not have a viable print backlist. While I've published nine books, there's only one in print, Memory of Murder. And it will go out of print within a few weeks. The older Love Inspired books are available in e-formats, but the other three aren't. The webiste had become a storage locker of information about me and the books--not a place where readers visit.
2. I have a limited amount of time for marketing. I have a day job. And I write. That means I need to make the best use of that time. We all know that word of mouth is the way most books sell these days. I've looked at ways to make the website more useful (such as frequent updates), but they all take more time than I have to give right now.
3. The best way to reach readers is to go where THEY are. My site is not a gathering place; the extremely low number of visitors over the past few months has underscored its lack of visibility. People simply don't go to the website to find out about me and my work.

While I'm maintaining the registration of the domain name, deleting the site also means that my website-based email (ramona@ramonarichards.com) will go away. For now, I can be reached at ramonarichards@aol.com.

I have no idea what the next few months will bring. No one does. But for now I will be siteless.

Changing Reader Expectations: The Triangle

For some time now, readers have been letting authors and publishers know that the love triangle, the “torn between two lovers” motif just isn’t working in the inspirational market. Readers—especially book buyers—are increasingly turning away from this time-honored plot.

Why?

The easiest explanation has to do with changing reader expectations.

The love triangle grew out of a time when a number of suitors paid call on a young woman of marriageable age. It was a time when love played only a small part in matchmaking, and parents had as much say about the man their daughter would marry. Inevitable conflict arose between the interests of the lady’s heart and the concerns of her family.

Likewise, the Triangle still works in some historical contexts. A skilled author can use unusual and unexpected twists to bring such a tale to a satisfactory conclusion.

In more contemporary settings (or in the hands of a less experienced author), the Triangle annoys the modern reader who…

1. Prefers characters to be strong and decisive. Triangles make characters look indecisive and illogical. Readers today prefer well-defined characters who have backbones: they like women and men who have goals and dreams and are willing to fight for them. Even if they struggle with their faith or some internal journey, characters should be able to make a decision and stick with it. They can struggle WITH love, but not about WHICH love.
2. Prefers plots to be about current concerns. The primary demographic for most romance novels are married women. They want to identify with the heroine and fall in love with the hero. They want the main characters to have struggles similar to their own: jobs, family issues, finances.
3. Prefers characters to have faithful hearts. This one is huge. In today’s world, a triangle usually ends with someone being unfaithful. This builds in the expectation for the reader that an author has to overcome in order for an inspirational novel to work.

While the Triangle is a familiar motif, it’s one that’s fallen out of favor. As a novelist, push your creativity to the next level and draw your readers in with something fresh. 

Looking Up

I often walk looking at the ground, especially in unfamiliar territory. This isn't because I have some psychological issue with looking folks in the face or whatever nonsense you'll read about people who walk with their heads down.

It's because I fall a lot. A LOT. I have tiny ankles and weak ligaments, and there's a lot of weight balanced on top of those. All it takes is a slight misstep to send me tumbling. My doc thinks the two hard falls I took in 2011 triggered my vertigo. The weak ligaments are from multiple sprains I had as a child and teen - this falling business isn't new. I am a lifelong klutz.

But I don't LIKE looking at the ground all the time. So when I'm wandering through a new place, I tend to stroll slowly, or even stop often, so I can look up and take in the wonders around me. Vicki Crumpton told me that when she hiked the Grand Canyon trail, the guides told the group that they could either "hike or look" but not both. On those narrow trails, it was too dangerous to do both.

I liked that advice. I can relate.

As believers, we're often told to "look up," a nice metaphor for remembering to rely on God in good times as well as bad. And just as it is with walking, I've found it's much better if you stop while you're looking up. When you're still, you just see more.

Happy Friday to you all. I hope you have a great weekend of "looking up."

The 15 Percent Solution

When I was at Mt. Hermon in March, one of the conferees asked me a question I hear a lot. “One of the instructors told me that he only receives about 10 to 15 percent of the manuscripts he requests. Is that true?”



The cross overlooking
the Blue Ridge conference



Well…yes. More or less. The figure will differ a bit for every agent and editor, but for many of us, that’s about average. Last year at the Blue Ridge conference, I requested 27 manuscripts. I received five.

So why would a writer pass on such an opportunity?

Most of the time, I’ll never know. Some write me to say that they’ve decided to revise one more time. Others sign with agents. A lucky few get asked for a proposal by several editors, and they pick and choose who they’ll send to. Now and again, they decide they just don’t like me.

Still others…never finish the book.

That last excuse is the primary reason editors require first-time authors to submit a complete manuscript before they offer a contract. Simply too many writers have a good idea with a great hook, then spend five years perfecting the first three chapters. And nothing else.

As an editor, I hope to work with authors for a long time. I want to see them grow, see each book improve, see their career take off for the heights. In order to do that, they’ll need to write multiple books, at least one or two a year, if not more.   

But here’s the bottom line: if an editor or agent requests your manuscript, stay in touch. Email them directly after the conference and either send your proposal or thank them for the request. If you’re not ready to submit, tell them why. Ask if there’s an expiration date on the invitation. Most of us aren’t ogres. Nor will it hurt our feelings to know that you want to give someone else the first crack at your manuscript. It’s part of the business.

And this is a business. As a result, the more professionally you behave, the better chance you have of finding a publisher.

Editorial Question: What Makes a Manuscript Stand Out?

This week's question comes from Daphne Woodall: When you've received 20 manuscripts over a period of time to review what is it about those that stand out that gets you excited as an editor. Is it that they followed all the guidelines, your favorite genre, the synopsis, the storyline, well written, it's uniqueness or a combination?

-------

The answer to this is easy...from my point of view. From the writer's POV, the answer is far more frustrating. Let me explain by offering a couple of examples. 

1) About a decade ago, I was freelancing as an editor, and one of my frequent clients was Howard Publishing. One day the editor sent me a manuscript for review (not edit) with the question "Should we sign this author?" I opened the manuscript and three pages later I called the editor and said, "If you don't sign her, you'll be missing a great opportunity." The book was Denise Hunter's Mending Places.

2) A few weeks ago, I was given an opportunity to acquire a manuscript to "drop in" to our spring list. A "drop in" book can be in a percarious position. It will be added to a list that's already been sold to the stores (several months ago). It needs to be strong, well done, and be able to stand out. MOST of the time, drop-ins are well-known authors who show up with a book at the last minute.

In this case, however, I was looking for a debut author with a complete manuscript. I went through the submissions I had like lightning through a cloud, looking for that one manuscript that stood out so suddenly, I knew it would work. I scoured manuscripts, reading ONLY the first five pages. I narrowed my choices to three . . . then to one. I sent that one to my team, then contacted the agent. The book, Karen Barnett's First Impressions, has been retitled Mistaken. It will be fast-tracked and release this July.

So what was it about those manuscripts that made them stand out, revealing their attraction and saleability in less than five pages?

1) Format. All recommended guidelines were followed. Why is this important? Because I was looking for a PROFESSIONAL, someone who had taken the time to study her craft and her business. Format reveals this in a heartbeat. If an author doesn't care enough to study the business, it's hard to take her seriously.

2) Rapid-fire characterization. Both books provide huge amounts of detail about the heroine's character, without being preachy (aka "telling") or cloying (aka overly sentimental). Dialogue (external and internal) provided clues and moved things along without being too introspective. 

3) Immediate motivation. Through action and character development, the first five pages revealed the characters' primary movtivation.

4) Grammatical accuracy. No typos or other mistakes to trip me up.

5) Superb word choices and creative but fluid syntax, which reveal a unique voice.

When these five things get my attention, then I check the synopsis to see if the story is well-drawn with engaging twists and a reasonable plot arc.

These are the things that are within the author's control. But then I have to figure in other details, like author's platform and web presence, genre fit within our upcoming seasons, etc. For instance, I can only buy so many historical romances a year.This is the frustrating part for authors, and it's what makes those first elements so essential.

Oh, and those first lines of Karen's story that got my attention? This is the opening, unedited. While there are tweaks I'll make, this opening made me keep reading, then turn to the synopsis, which sealed the deal.

--------------------
MISTAKEN

     Laurie Burke clutched the steering wheel of her father’s Model T as the car lurched down the deserted road toward the beach, the headlights barely denting the dark night. Rain spilled over the edges of the canvas top and soaked through her coat, wetting her through to the skin. Plowing through a low bog, the tires sent up a spray of muddy water.

     If it weren’t for her brother, Laurie would be safe at home, asleep in her bed. She tapped her fingernails against the wheel and breathed a quick prayer.

     One honorable man in my life—is that really too much to ask, God?

     As the road veered to the west, tracing the edge of the bluff, Laurie slowed the automobile to a crawl, scanning the murky shadows for signs of life. She drew in a quick breath as she spotted another automobile, pulled off the side of the road. Perched near the edge of the bluff, the car’s front wheels pointed in the direction of the Straits, not that one could see the water on a night like this.

     Carefully, she guided the Ford in beside it. Empty. She hadn’t expected to spot lovers necking in the front seat, but only fools would be out on the beach in the dark of night during a storm.

     Laurie’s stomach churned. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Please, God, don’t let my brother be one of those fools.

 

2013 Conference Attendance

Someone asked recently about the conferences I'd be attending this year. I'm only attending five this year; probably less next year. I decided to list them on the blog so that the next time someone asked, I could just send them this link. Lazy cuss that I am.

Each listing links to the conference website (if I've done this correctly).

1) The Florida Christian Writers Conference, Feb 27th - March 3rd. Leesburg, FL

2) Mt. Hermon Christian Writers Conference, March 20th - March 26th. Mt. Hermon, CA

3) Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference, May 19th - May 23rd. Black Mountain, NC

4) Oregon Christian Writers Conference, August 12th - 15th. Portland, OR

5) ACFW Conference, Sept. 13th - Sept. 15th. Indianapolis, IN

I will NOT be attending ICRS this year nor RWA. I'm trying more and more to be a good steward with my time and my company's resources, focusing on what I do best for them - acquisitions. We've been closed to submissions for several months, and I hope to reopen in June for the 2015-2017 lists. 

If you have questions about any of these conferences or what I'll be looking for when I open to submissions again, please feel free to ask here or on my Facebook page.

Editorial Question: Say What?

This week's editorial questions comes from Mary Foster: After greetings are over what is the one thing you want to hear an author say/ask?

I love this question, especially since I'm about to head off to TWO writers conferences: the Florida Christian Writers Conference (Feb. 27-March 3) and the Mt. Hermon Christian Writers Conference (March 21-26). I'm going to only a few conferences this year (and fewer next year), but still hope I get to see lots of folks.

In a pitch meeting, after the introductions, I usually take the lead with "So tell me about your story."

The key word in this is "story." STORY. Not message. Not theme. Not motif. STORY. I don't want to hear what lesson you're trying to teach. If your STORY doesn't engage me, I could care less about the message or the theme.

1) It all starts with the story.

A good way to begin a pitch is with the genre, word count, and status. "I have a historical romance that's 90,000 words, and it's complete."

Then move into the story. "It's about a woman, Carol Ann, who was kidnapped by the Commanche tribe in 1836. It details her trials and tribulations while with the tribe, her love story with her husband, the drama of the uncle who searched for her, and the impossibility of her readjustment when she was 'rescued' 24 years later."

Then STOP and see if I have any questions. Usually I will. This is also the time when an editor will say something like, "Sounds interesting but we don't do historicals before 1850. Do you have anything else?" IF an editor isn't interested in that pitch, DON'T PUSH. Either say, "Yes," and pitch the next story, or ask if editor has specific story ideas they are searching for. Don't surrender your time just because your story doesn't fit and you don't have another one. Show the editor you're interested in writing for a career and want to be open.

2) Be prepared to answer questions.

If the editor is interested, there WILL be questions. "Tell me more about your heroine. What's her main character arc?" or "Explain the central conflict." or "Take me up to the black moment." Know your story inside and out.

I sometimes become frustrated with writers who can't separate their story from the takeaway or the message. "It's about a woman who learns to forgive her uncle for his abuse." Fine, but what's the STORY? "It's about a woman who learns to forgive..."

That's not the story; that's the takeaway. The story is about Abigail, who's enjoying a great life as a journalist but can't quite shake the nightmares that drain her and interfere with her ability to get close to Jeff, the love of her life. Just as they are close to breaking up, her uncle dies and when she and Jeff return for the funeral, all the buried family drama unravels around them.

Yow! NOW I want to hear more!

What do I want to hear next?

Your STORY.

First Editorial Question: Taking a Different Path to the Dream

On my Facebook page, I asked if anyone had a question they wanted to ask an editor. I’ll answer such questions on Mondays, so feel free to ask more. You can leave them here on the blog or on my Facebook page.

The first question comes from Peter Leverall: Why are so many agents creating ebook publishing companies? Are you afraid that you'll miss a magical manuscript that way?

Let me answer these in reverse order.

2) Do I worry about missing a special book? No.

The main reason is a least partially what may be behind agents starting their own publishing lines: As an editor, I know a lot of good books will never find a home with a traditional publisher. There are simply more well-written, deserving books out there than all publishers put together can possibly publish.

But there’s a flip side of my answer to that question as well. Years ago, long before anyone dreamed of digital publishing, I asked my boss a variation of that question: “Do you worry about turning down a best seller?”

She shook her head. “If you work in this business long enough, you will. I once turned down the picture book version of Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer. But you can’t worry about it, or it’ll drive you crazy. Focus on publishing the best books you can with the goals of your publisher in mind. God will take care of the rest.”

It’s the nature of the beast: Sooner or later, every editor, every publisher, turns down a book that goes on to be the next The Shack. Self-publishing opportunities do not make this any more or less true.

So…is this why so many agencies are starting their own lines?

1) Now…a caveat. To truly know why any one agency is starting to publish a line of books, you’d have to ask them. I’m speculating, based on conversations I’ve had with several.

They, even more than publishers, are on the front line. Agents, as liaisons between authors and publishers, know both sides of the story. They know the limits of our lists and budgets. They understand the market and see well what’s selling where.  And they are, for the most part, sitting on dozens of excellent books that just can’t find a home with a traditional publisher.

They may be part of a genre that doesn’t move well in the stores, such as speculative or cozy mysteries. They may be “off-brand” novels of well-known authors. They may be literary works of art from someone who’s better known as a speaker or non-fiction author. Whatever the reason, they are homeless.

The agencies are uniquely positioned to see if there is a chance for such books to do well in a self-publishing environment. They also know what a struggle that means, and how hard an author will need to work to get the word out. But self-publishing is more of a "long tail" economic environment, much more than traditional publishing is at the moment. That means self-publishing gives some books at least a chance of finding a small market, when they would have had none before.

But it's not easy an "easy way out." According to an October 2012 Bowker report, there were more than 211,000 self-published books released in 2011. Even more in 2012. A few succeeded. A lot more…didn’t.

Being a writer is risky. So is being a publisher. It’s always been that way; the growth of self-publishing has increased those risks for both sides, but there will NEVER be a sure-fire way to succeed in this business. Some folks succeed with a special project; others through sheer determination and perseverance.

I’m biased. I prefer that latter path.

Permanence

This weekend I started unpacking my books. This news came as a surprise to some of my close friends, one of whom even expressed that this seemed soon for me, since I've only been in my new apartment, a duplex, since July 2011. Her comment?

"You've lived like you were in temporary lodgings since I've known you."

I've known her since 1998. Which is fairly recent among my close friends. Unlike my residences, my close friends (the people I talk to, eat with, confide in on a regular basis) are quite long term. Of the five I see/talk to several times a month, I met them in 1998, 1995, 1992, 1989, and 1973.

Lodging is a different story. I DO tend to live out of boxes and have for more than 20 years. Settling is hard for me, and I always seem to be on the verge of bolting for another location. In my 55 years, I've moved 14 times, including 3 times between 2006 and 2011. Eight years is the longest I've stayed anywhere. Even people outside my life have noted that I seem to have a restless spirit and a nomadic desire.

And to be honest, as much as I like where I am now, I know I won't be here long. Since I hope to work at least another 15 years, I expect to move at least twice more. Unpacking seems to be an unnecessary risk.

I've had slightly better luck with churches. I've only changed churches six times, but I've been a "patchwork Protestant" most of my life, with a slight detour into Catholicism in the 1980s. I have a healthy respect for most variations on the Christian faith, as long as they are sincerely held. Below is my "home church" - Forrest Chapel UMC in Hartselle, Alabama - which I attended from 1959-1967 (yes, I'm old).

So I've lived my life knowing that everything in this world is temporary. Nothing lasts forever.

Except faith. When my parents started taking me to Forrect Chapel, I was two. I gave my life to Christ at nine. At twelve, I wanted to be a nun because nothing sounded so wonderful to me as giving my life to Him. (My mother had to break the news that Methodists don't have nuns.) I left the Church when I was 18 - and the next decade went through some serious experimentation and refinement (I still have friends who are Wiccan). God let me wander, and wander I did.

But He never abandoned me, and when I returned to the faith, He was waiting, almost as if He said, "OK, you wandered and you learned. Now it's time to work and use that knowledge." I've pretty much been a "nun" for Him ever since, just not behind thick walls.

And the major thing I learned? If you want permanence in your life, don't look around. Look UP.

Whose Path of Choice? (Part Two)

Well, to continue from this blog post…

As the song in Avenue Q asks, “What do you do with a BA in English?” especially if you’re not going to teach. My first option was to go for a Master’s Degree.

Yeah, that didn’t last long.

Over the course of my life, I’ve discovered that when I push too hard and too long in my own direction, instead of God’s, He just bides His time until I hit a wall. Then I bounce around for awhile, looking like a dog who's caught a car he'd been chasing, until I realize which direction He wants me headed, at least for the time being.

A year into my master’s degree, I hit one that was big and hard. And it wasn’t the only one. Stubborn as I am, I kept trying to go MY way. I would not listen. MY way or no way. Stubbornness took root, and the next decade plus involved some of the roughest years of my life.

Don’t get me wrong. I had some good times; some great times. I advanced some in my career, but not much. Most days toddled along with the usual ups and downs. But the setbacks were huge. My marriage struggled. I finished my MA, but the job I'd finished it for disappeared overnight. I had Rachel, and all my dreams for a princess child shattered and had to be reformed. I lost a job, as did my husband. I stopped writing. I stopped editing. I stopped reading. I divorced.

I hit my knees and surrendered.

And the world suddenly turned on a new axis.

This is hard to explain to someone who’s not a believer. From the outside, I still struggled and had hard times. Financial and career valleys as well as mountain peaks. From the inside, however, the struggles were no longer against a wall. They were now obstacles on a new and open path. I stumbled. I skinned a few knees and palms. I twisted the occasional ankle. I praised and I sorrowed.

But hope and a clear direction had returned. And as I closed in on middle age, I discovered a new clarity on all that I’d been through.

I had been prepped. Every step along the way.

Remember that shotgun approach to education?

·         An interest in archaeology led me to take a class in Greek – which was instrumental in my getting a job with the Bible department of Thomas Nelson that salvaged me after my divorce.

·         A class in linguistics provided me with a background in how children acquire language and what they can learn in the womb – which helped me care for Rachel and find ways to help her progress and learn words.  

·         All that science-based education made me able to seek out freelance jobs in a variety of arenas when I was working from home (either by choice…or not). (Yeah, I’d always wanted to proofread HVAC educational materials, but, hey—they paid well.)

I could go on like this for days. Sometimes it seems as if everything I've been through has all led to what God wants me to do. Or, to look at it in another way, He turned it all for good.

And, trust me. If He can do it for me, He can do it for anyone. He can lead anyone to the mountain top.

Whose Path of Choice?

When my brother was in his pre-teens, he tried to blow up his bedroom. After that, my mother insisted all chemistry experiments be conducted outdoors. These experiments fascinated me as well, and I spent much of my childhood peering over his shoulder.

His initial miscalculation in the bedroom left an indelible stain on the ceiling. It was a light brown, shaped like a Rorschach inkblot gone wild, and refused to go away. My parents painted over it several times, but it slowly eked through the paint until it returned in its full color. This determination fascinated me. How did the paint cover at first, but not for long?

I loved science (still do). I wanted to be an astronaut. We had a built-in toy storage in our house, and my brother and I regularly dragged everything out of it and crawled inside. He learned to close us in by yanking the door suddenly and pulling away his fingers just before it slammed. We’d twist until we’d have our feet on the wall and our backs on the ground, like the real astronauts did. I wanted to see the stars from the stars.

I learned about chemistry from mixing vinegar and soda and sending a plastic rocket flying. I learned about physics from tagging along with my brother's rocket club...and trying to run down a slide board only to land on my face. (But I never gave up; I had a bit more luck a little later in life, as you can see in the picture.)

 

My brother encouraged me to study as much science and math as I could, and I took all four science and math classes (biology I and II, chemistry, and physics; algebra I and II, geometry, and trigonometry) in high school. In chemistry, I repeated the family history by trying to blow up the lab (by accidentally mixing two acids) and causing a class evacuation (by creating ammonia nitrate outside of a hood).

I also played five instruments, which blended well with the science. I was in band and chorus. I wanted to play music. I wanted adventure and travel. I wanted to be a doctor!

What? The writing? Oh, well, yes, I wrote all the time. I knew I was meant to write, even as a kid. But . . . no one but the famous people made a living at it. Right?

Then, when I was 18, I hit a wall. In the course of two years, I walked away from my science studies and my music. I put down all the instruments, and began to bounce willy-nilly through the university, taking everything from history and foreign languages to acting lessons and political theory. A class in linguistics changed my life (a subject for a later blog).

Only later did I realize that my writer’s brain had kicked into gear. I wanted to learn it all. Still do.

My shotgun approach to education befuddled my advisors and my parents. My mother was convinced I’d spend my life hanging out a drive-thru asking about French fries.  

But I forced myself to trust. I had to. I had to believe that God had the bigger picture in mind, and He wouldn’t let me starve.

Only later did I learn that God’s sense of timing is quite different from our own, and that He has a great sense of humor.

(More to come…)

Memory of Murder Scene 1

CHAPTER ONE (Excerpt)

Her every nerve suddenly on edge, Lindsey Presley stared at the blond man confronting Deputy Jeff Gage.

Reaching behind her, Lindsey double-checked the lock on the front door of her restaurant, then hugged the night deposit bag more tightly. She prayed she was wrong about the stranger. After all, he didn't look all that different from other young people in the area. Clean-shaven, short hair, T-shirt, jeans. Barely more than a kid. Average.

Except for that vintage orange Pontiac GTO that waited behind him, blocking Jeff's patrol cruiser. The GTO's front door stood open, waiting. Its motor idled with the distinctive rumble of a pampered muscle car.

The top step of the Cape Cod–style building gave Lindsey a view of the entire parking lot. Empty, except for the three of them and the two cars. She blinked hard, distracted as the kid shook his left hand out to one side, as if trying to fling a bug from it. His right hand remained hidden behind his hip.

Go back inside. This isn't right. A streetwise instinct honed in her childhood urged Lindsey to flee behind closed doors. There a kitchen bristled with knives she could use for defense. But that instinct fought with her reluctance to leave the sheriff's deputy who stood between her and the young man. Jeff had promised to protect her on the nightly deposit runs to the bank and had done just that since she'd opened the diner six months ago. During those short rides to the bank, they'd become close friends. She didn't want to abandon him. She wouldn't.

Friends don't do that. And the guy still hasn't done anything wrong. Logic told her to wait. Friendship begged her to stay. Her gut told her to run.

Jeff, who had been waiting for her at the foot of the front steps at eight o'clock, also seemed to sense something odd about the way the young man had slid the GTO into the parking lot after closing time. He stood with his back stiff, feet apart and firmly planted, his hand on his gun. On guard and wary. The man's left hand shook harder, and Lindsey's muscles tensed. Now, she thought. It's going to happen now. What do I do?

Trip the alarm. The thought startled her, but she immediately knew it was a good idea. Turning, she thrust her key in the lock, twisted it and cracked open the door. If she didn't close it or enter the code inside within thirty seconds, the alarm would sound.

"Sir, you need to leave." Jeff's firm command echoed over the empty parking lot. "The restaurant is closed."

Lindsey pivoted back toward the parking lot, eyes fixed on the two men. The younger man shook his head, now holding his left hand high and smiling broadly. "I understand. I understand. I just need directions. I drove all the way from…from Chicago. Trying to find a girl I met online. Just a girl." He stepped forward, as if to go around Jeff.

Jeff blocked his path. He glanced warily up at the kid's left hand. "Where are you going?"

The blond never responded. Instead, he swung his right arm around from behind his back. He ground a stun gun into Jeff's chest. With a stark cry of pain, Jeff dropped to the asphalt, his body twisting in spastic seizures.

"No!" Lindsey screamed. She dashed down the steps toward them, throwing the money bag at the man. "Take it!" She lunged toward Jeff.

She never reached him. Fire shot through her skull as the man grabbed her by the hair, yanking her backwards. He punched her in the solar plexus. Lindsey's breath stopped and spots danced in front of her eyes as she collapsed. Her assailant grabbed her arm and slung her over the hood of the GTO.

The restaurant alarm blared through the night, the sirens radiating off every wall in the neighborhood. The man cursed and pressed his arm on the back of her neck. "Stupid woman!"

Lindsey fought for air as he yanked her arms behind her. Plastic ties cut deep into her skin as he secured her wrists. Finally drawing a raspy gasp, Lindsey tried to scream again, but a sharp blow to her ribs cut it off as she curled up in agony. He snapped her ankles together, wrapping the ties around them. He tossed her over one shoulder, her small frame no burden at all to him.

He bent to scoop up the money, then kicked Jeff twice as he passed the struggling deputy—once in the side, once on the back of Jeff's skull. Jeff went limp.

Lindsey found more breath. "No!" She bucked against the man, but he ignored her, shoving her unceremoniously into the back seat of the GTO. "Scream away, darlin'. No one will hear you over this baby."

The guy got in and gunned the engine. The fine-tuned rumble exploded into a roar that split the night air.

The orange car spit loose gravel, and smoke bellowed from beneath its tires as it spun out of the parking lot less than five minutes after it had pulled in.

Lindsey pushed herself around, still fighting to breathe normally, regularly. Not an easy task with the pain throbbing through her ribs and head. She struggled against her bonds without success. Sweat coated her back and legs where they pressed against the vinyl back seat of the car. The fury and adrenaline that seared through her made Lindsey's mind spin. Her muscles trembled, but terror and pain kept her sane and focused as the last few minutes played over and over in her head.

God, how do I get out of this? Help me.

Lindsey twisted until she could see her attacker over the low, split front seat of the GTO. His pasty face glowed in the glare of oncoming headlights, and rivulets of water dripped out of the man's hair and trailed down his cheeks and neck.

He's sweating! Despite the open front windows and light chill of the early fall night, the man's hair remained plastered to his scalp. He fidgeted, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and squirming in his seat. He pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket to check it, mumbling directions to himself. Over the roar of the engine, Lindsey barely caught the words, "Go slow. Careful. Left after three miles." He shoved the paper back in his pocket. He let up on the gas, and the car slowed.

He's going to turn. Leave the main road. Lindsey knew the road he planned to take. It ran deep into an almost impenetrable Tennessee woodland. In that second's realization, Lindsey knew she was about to die.

No! Her mind screamed the word, and in pure desperation, a rough idea formed in her mind. And insane idea.

He'll be focused on the turn, the other cars…

As Lindsey slowly shifted her body into position, her assailant's words repeated over and over. "Turn, three miles. Turn, three miles."

Lindsey frowned, then blinked the words away. She must get ready, no matter how crazy her plan seemed.

You can do this. You can do this! Pushing over on her back, she ignored the agony in her hands as she braced her shoulders against the middle of the seat and cautiously drew her knees up to her chest. Her short, petite frame let her curl into a tight ball, and Lindsey had never felt so grateful for being so short—or for taking that Pilates class her sister had insisted on.

Still mumbling, the man braked the car suddenly, shouting at an oncoming vehicle to get out of the way. As he stomped on the accelerator again, heading the car into the left turn, Lindsey shrieked with all her might. Startled, the man's head snapped around to glare at her, just as she kicked both legs with as much strength as she had, thrusting her thick-soled, restaurant-durable shoes directly at his face.

His scream matched hers as blood shot from his crushed nose. He jerked, twisting the wheel to the right, veering the car out of the turn and straight toward the corner where the two roads met. He never had a chance to touch the brakes as the orange GTO crashed through the guardrail and soared into the air.

The engine howled as the tires left the road. Lindsey felt weightless, her body floating above the seat as the car arced into the ravine. Then the car plowed into the rock and dirt, landing grill down with a deafening sound of sheared metal and shattering glass.

Lindsey plunged forward over the seat. Searing pain sliced through her as her shins hit the man's head, which slammed forward into the steering wheel with a sickening crack. She crashed into the windshield, then down on the dash, as the car rolled over on its right side. It slid another few yards before the weight of the engine pulled it upright again.

Lindsey's head thudded into the dash a second time, and the darkness of unconsciousness consumed her.

***

MEMORY OF MURDER

Love Inspired Suspense

Available March 2013

To read a blurb about the whole book and see links to pre-order, please visit the book's page on my website.