Remember When . . . It Was a Matter of Fact?

First, I want to thank everyone for sharing my excitement and offering your congrats and encouragement on my Big News. Being able to talk about it at last makes it so new and real, LOL.

I was tempted to talk about the Christian Product Expo I just attended in Lancaster, but since that's not historical, ha ha, I figured I'd better spare you all those details that probably wouldn't interest everyone. ;-) So instead, I thought I'd share some of the things that have struck me in the memoir I've been reading for research.

Last week I downloaded a dozen free books on the Civil War, most of them original texts from the era. The one I opened first was A Confederate Girl's Diary by Sarah Morgan Dawson. Sarah was a young lady in Baton Rouge during the war, and getting her view of events has been so interesting. It isn't just the events through her eyes that get me--it's her outlook on the whole state of affairs.

What strikes me most is her casual acceptance of looming death. One of the parts I just read says something along the lines of "I assured Mother that Charlie could protect me. And of course, should he be killed, I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself."

As they're evacuating the city during a brief shelling, they go by a camp of guerilla soldiers, and she and her sister call out something like, "Die protecting us!" Even when it's her own brother's and father's lives on the line--or extinguished--it's told in her diary with grief but no despair. But rather with a calm acceptance of whatever life might give.

And yet there's also the kind of scattered delight that reminded me of a character in an Austen novel. When Sarah is telling about the above-mentioned escape from the city, she gets only a block away before her shoes become so uncomfortable that she decides to turn back and get different ones. And of course, once back in the house, she thinks she had better grab some spare clothes. And of course, then she must gather some ribbons . . . and a comb . . . and her letters--but which ones?

The picture she paints of herself, comically oblivious to the shells whizzing overhead when it's about something as critical as finding her favorite belongings, is that of someone who has adjusted in ways she never imagined to a world gone quite mad.

And that, in my opinion, is one of the most amazing traits of humanity--our ability to adapt. No matter the era, no matter the circumstances, as a whole we will change as our circumstances dictated.

Much like this Confederate girl who mourned the loss of the Sarah of old . . . but didn't let it render her speechless.

My Big News!

If you want a word of the week today, I'd have to with "surreal"--which is how this big news feels to me. (But did you know it wasn't a word until 1927??? I guess before that people may have just used unreal. But that doesn't quite capture it, so special thanks to Monsieur Apollinaire for coining it in French.)

Many of you probably saw my announcement on Facebook on Friday, but if not, I can finally announce the big news I've known about since October--Harvest House just bought a three-book series from me!

Now, here's why this is so surreal. Some of the first Christian fiction I read was by Lori Wick. I discovered her books when I was twelve, and my mom and I would both read all of them, even sharing them with my piano teacher. Those books were what inspired my first novel (finished at age 13). And as I finished that first novel and started dreaming of publication, my eyes naturally moved to the spines of those books I so loved.

Harvest House. Oh, the wonders of a publisher like Harvest House! It seemed everything on my shelf was either from Harvest or Bethany. Surely, surely I could find a home there!

But as the years went by and I learned more about the publishing world, I started to think that, while I would find a great publisher (surely!), it probably wouldn't be those ones I'd dreamed of for over a decade. And that was okay.

Still, when I had the chance to meet with an editor from Harvest House at the 2009 ACFW conference, I was excited. I pitched to her a contemporary romance, and she read the first few pages right there in the appointment, and declared that my writing was great. I was now excited but also guarded. I knew how long these things could take, and how an enthusiastic editor didn't always mean anything.

Sure enough, a year went by without hearing anything. I got in touch with this editor and discovered that she'd misplaced the manuscript, so I resent--along with a slew of other proposals for historicals she'd asked to see when I inquired about historical romance possibilities.

But after many months, I got the bad news on that contemporary--they just weren't doing straight-up contemporary romance. So I said, "Well, what about a historical romance set around George Washington's first spy ring, during the Revolution?" I'd just had this idea, you see, knew it would be a great follow-up to Annapolis, which had recently been contracted.

She said, "Oh, I'd be interested in looking at that!" So after finishing up a couple other projects, I got to work researching this idea I had. I titled it Ring of Secrets and came up with one of the best one-line blurbs I've ever managed:

For a Patriot daughter in Loyalist New York, 

opening her heart could mean a noose around her neck.

I sent it off totally unsure that those first three chapters were any good, but I said, "Eh, it'll take her a good while to get to it, anyway. I can always send her a revised version . . ."

An hour later I get an email from this editor. I opened it up thinking it would be, "Thanks, got it!" But no--it said, "Call me!!!" Uh . . . okay. ;-)

In short, she loved it. Loved it so much that we agreed then and there to meet at the conference we'd both be attending in Oregon in August, and that I'd deliver whatever I had finished at the time. She warned me she wasn't the type to take things to committee before she'd read the whole thing, but I was so excited to hear her talking of taking it to committee that that didn't bother me at all. ;-)

So in August, she read the 75% of the book I had finished, and her enthusiasm for it left me giddy. In September, she told me when the committee meeting would be, in October. The day of, she emailed me several times making sure she had every detail of information right, and to tell me to pray. Warned me it would be two weeks before I heard.

Then it came--the email from her, to me and my agent, with the words I'd waited 15 years to hear: "Harvest House wants to buy this series!"

My first three-book deal, with a publisher I've admired since my introduction in Christian Fiction! I could hardly believe it then, and I can still hardly believe it now, three months of negotiations later. =)

But it's real. Ring of Secrets (assuming the title doesn't get changed, which is always a possibility), a fictional account following the real-life, documented activities of Washington's most trustworthy spies, will release 1 January 2013. Just less than a year from today. Here's my unofficial description. =)

Winter Reeves is a Patriot daughter forced to hide her heart amid the Loyalists of the City of New York. Though she has learned to don a mask to hide her thoughts, she has also learned to keep her ears open so she can pass information on British movements to her childhood friend and his Culper Ring. Never before has she had a problem hiding her true heart behind an image of brainless beauty. But then, never before had someone seen straight to her soul.

Bennet Lane returns to New York from his Yale professorship with one goal: to find Washington’s spy hidden among the ranks of the elite. Romance was supposed to be nothing more than a convenient cover story for his search, a way to gain entrance to the world he had so long shunned—though women are terrifying, baffling creatures that inevitably render him bumbling. But when he meets Winter, with her too-intelligent eyes under her too-blank face, he finds a mystery too intriguing to be ignored.

In a world where loyalty can be bought and sold, where no one can be trusted, and where threat dangles ever before them, Winter and Bennet must find a way through the snares of intrigue . . . before their secrets can swallow them whole.

Winter and Bennet (and Robert Townsend, Benedict Arnold, and a host of other historical figures) will be a reality soon. Followed every six months by their sequels, which will follow the next generation of both Culper Ring and the family in the War of 1812, and then next-next generation in the Civil War. ;-)

Yep . . . definitely surreal. But oh, how I praise Him for it!

Thoughtful About . . . Small Miracles

Another thoughtful day as a result of our home school reading. =) This week we saw Elisha take over for Elijah, and during his stay with all the young prophets-in-training, we got to a story I remembered from when I was a kid but forgot the context of.

So one day, while all the young prophets are off in the woods so they might chop down enough wood to build new houses, an ax head flew off one of the shafts. Landed in the river. Kerplunk. The young man wielding it looked on with distress and cried, "Oh no! That was borrowed! Aaaaaaggghhhhh! Now what am I supposed to do??"

Now, I'll admit I don't know every nuance of the Law, but I suspect that the penalty for accidentally losing an ax head wasn't death or anything. ;-) But the guy was upset. He'd borrowed something, borrowed it for a noble  cause, no doubt promising to return the tool in the same condition in which he'd gotten it. Which was certainly not at the bottom of the river.

Still, it's a little thing, isn't it? An ax head. Kind of akin to lost keys. Or a broken down car. Vital things, but not really life-and-death things. Yet seeing the young prophet's distress, Elisha picks up a stick, goes to the exact spot in the river where the ax had fallen, and tosses it in.

Up floated the ax head, as if it were made of wood.

When reading this to Xoe, this is where I stopped and said, "Now, what are axes made of?"

Xoe: "Metal!"

Me: "Does metal float?"

Xoe, laughing: "No, it sinks!"

Me: "And that's why this is a miracle."

Simple. Little. Wasn't it?

The more I thought about this "little" miracle, the more I realized it wasn't so little. Perhaps it wasn't as showy as parting the sea, or the river. Perhaps it wasn't as over-reaching as feeding thousands with a few loaves (Elisha did both of those just before this too). But it required rewriting the laws of physics. And you know, that's a pretty big deal. Making an ax head float . . . well, you might as well make the young prophet fly. Pretty much the same amount of miracle needed.

So I sat back, and I chewed on it. God, through Elisha, rewrote the laws of physics--for one lost tool. 

And yet still people doubt that He cares, especially about the little things. Still people doubt what He can do. Still people will say, "Why didn't He just stop the ax head from flying off??" instead of looking at what He did do.

When I first heard this story, I couldn't have told you what "laws of physics" were, LOL. Sure, I knew metal didn't float, but mostly this story fell into the category of "Wow, isn't God nice?" in my little-kid mind. And He is. He is so, so nice. So good. So loving.

So much so that He'll do the impossible just to restore peace of mind to one who loves Him.

I'm going to be clinging to that ax head a lot. As a reminder of how far the Lord will go for the little things. As a reminder of how quick He often chooses to act. As a reminder of the "small" miracles that He does that we often probably don't even notice. But that require just as much miraculousness as the big ones.

With God, there really is no big or small. He doesn't weigh and measure like we do. I believe he sees a need, measures the faithfulness of the asker, not the task itself. And does what needs to be done.

Thank you, Lord, for caring on a scale I can't fathom. For the ax head as well as the Red Sea. Thank you for the big things you do to save lives and nations . . . and for the little things that let us get through each day.

Remember When . . . Location Was Everything?

This past week, I've been doing a lot of research. I downloaded about a dozen free e-books to my Kindle, all from the Civil War, mostly memoirs and first-hand accounts. And, of course, Uncle Tom's Cabin, which I deem it a gross oversight on my part that I've never read. (Though I was in The King and I in high school and can't think of the book without breaking out into song: "Small house of Uncle Thooooooomas, small house of Uncle Thooooooomas, writ-ten by a wo-man, Harriet Beecher Stooooooooooooow-eh.")

When I first started writing this Civil War book, I thought, "Oh, good. I'll have two books to write in the next  year set in this era. My research will get to double up."

Except, of course, that these two books are about as different as you can get when set in the same era. In my current one, both hero and heroine and Confederates. From Savannah, with its unique Georgian culture. Under their unique Georgian laws. The other one will have hero and heroine who are both Union sympathizers, though my heroine will be a widow of a secret Confederate. It's set in Maryland, which had many who left the state to join the Confederacy, but the state itself was basically not allowed to, given the military presence.

Okay, so my fashion research will be able to double up. Otherwise . . . LOL.

And though it means more work for me, I really love how different stories can be when set in the same time. My colonials are good examples of this too. Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland is set in 1783. Hero and heroine are Patriots, and the heroine even observes that she's scarcely seen a Tory since the war began, which would have been true of Williamsburg, where she grew up. But in my next book, set in 1780 New York City (or rather, the City of New York as it was called at the time), my heroine is literally surrounded by Loyalists after growing up in a Patriot household on Long Island. Who had control of a place played an enormous part in what that place was like. 

In either the Revolutionary or Civil War.

Well, that's what I've been thinking about this past week. ;-) Do you have a particular era you love--and have you noticed the amazing spectrum of perspectives available in it? I'd love to hear about it!

Now back I go to my manuscript. My heroine has just gotten word that the hero is dead. Poor Cordelia!

Story Time - The Merchant's Daughter

The Merchant's Daughter

by Melanie Dickerson 

All Annabel Chapmen has ever wanted is to become a nun. To set her hands upon a Bible, to read the Holy Writ with her own eyes. To discover if it really says what their village priest claims, that all women are evil, nothing but a snare of Satan. But when her merchant father's ships were lost, her dream sank too. And when her father died in the pestilence, it seemed the whole future wavered. And now, now the Chapmans are to be held accountable for the last three years of shirking their duties to the lord of the demesne. Her uncaring brother tries to arrange a marriage for her with the nasty Bailiff Tom so that he will pay the fine they owe, but Annabel cannot. She simply cannot.

She would rather accept the penalty for her family and become a servant at the manor of the newly-arrived lord. At least there, no one can force her to become the wife of a lout. Although that lout is far too close for her peace of mind, and continues to follow her around with his lechery and threats. Praise be to the Lord that there is always someone there to provide safety--usually the beastly-looking Lord Ranulf le Wyse.

Ranulf may have lost his eye and injured his arm through an act of heroism, but the resulting injuries have made him repulsive to any female--something he learned the difficult way when he made the mistake of marrying a woman he thought loved him, but who had instead tread upon his heart before succumbing to the pestilence. Best to turn it cold and draw upon the fierce temper everyone expects anyway, given his ghastly appearance. And best to steer clear of all beautiful maidens--especially the lovely new servant who seems to find trouble every time she moves. He will do his best to protect her from those who would hurt her.

But who will protect his scarred-over heart from her?

The Merchant's Daughter is a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, so there are certain elements you know without doubt will be there. The beastly-looking man whose outside appearance goes hand in hand with a fierce temper . . . but a protective, fair heart. The lovely heroine with a desire for books rather than a husband. The full cast of supporting characters that range from delightful young boy to the menacing would-be suitor.

But it's also so much more. This is a story that plunged me directly into a world long-since gone, into the heart of a girl who just wanted to see the Scriptures. Just wanted to read them, and couldn't find a way . . . until she's forced into a situation she thought could render nothing good. Annabel and Ranulf's story is one of yearnings restrained and fears made manifest, of sacrificial love and tender emotion. Compelling from the very first page, these characters will win your heart.

It's been a long, long time since I've been able to find the time and energy to read a book in less than a day--in the last year, even really excellent books take me weeks to read. But The Merchant's Daughter stayed in my hand all morning last Sunday, and I scarcely put it down until I'd finished it. I knew when I spotted it on the shelf that it would give me exactly what I needed--an interesting, involved, beautifully transporting read--and it exceeded my expectations. I read this book in one gulp and loved every second of it!

Billed as a young adult novel, this is one I intend to give to my teenaged niece for her birthday, for sure--but it's also one that women of all ages will enjoy, especially if they have a love for fairy tales. Melanie Dickerson has done it again with this amazing medieval romance, and I just can't recommend it enough. 

So go! Order one, pick one up off the shelf, borrow one--whatever you have to do to get your hands on it--you'll thank me. So I'll just say "you're welcome" now. ;-)

Word of the Week - Show

This ranks as one of those "who'd a thunk?" late arrivals to the English language. Not in every sense, of course, but I think you'll be surprised by some of the years on this!

Okay, so "show" as in act or performance is as old as you might expect, coming from the 1300s. And an appearance put on to deceive, or an ostentatious display are from the 1500s. As a verb, it's even older, though with a twist unique to English. Ours evolved into a meaning of "to make known" in the 1200s, but the correlating word in other languages still carried its original meaning of "to look at."

But some of the meanings we use most often are the ones that'll get you.

Did you know, for instance, that "show up" didn't come along until 1888? That's after "show biz" which is from the 1850s! And it's even after "I'll show you!" That particular meaning comes from the 1820s.

Interesting, huh? =)

Hope everyone has a great Monday!

Thoughtful About . . . Waiting on Promises

Yesterday in our homeschool Bible reading, we got to one of the best-known stories of Elijah--where he challenged the 450 priests of Baal to an alter competition. (Okay, my words, not theirs, LOL.) You remember it, I'm sure. The priests of Baal build their alter, put on their bullock, pray and pray and pray to Baal for fire to come down from heaven and light the alter.

Nothing. I love this story partially because of how Elijah taunts them. Can't you just see that wily smile as he says, "Maybe your god's asleep. Or on vacation. Cry louder."

And they do, LOL. Then, of course, after that fails, Elijah builds his alter on the exact spot it should have been all these years, puts on his bullock, and has TWELVE barrels of water dumped onto the alter. Now, it hasn't rained for years and years at this point, so that was probably some precious stuff. Elijah prayed, and fire swooshed down from heaven, devoured the offering, the water, and the very stones.

AWESOME.

But something new jumped out at me yesterday. After the priests of Baal were killed, after everyone fled, Elijah and his servant prayed again. See, it was time for the promised rain to come. Time for the drought to end. Time to bring relief for the people.

So Elijah fell to his knees and beseeched God. God, the Lord, who had just an hour earlier sent heavenly fire for him. God, the Lord, who had led him here. God, the Lord, who had promised, "And then you'll pray again, and I'll send the rains."

Elijah prayed. And his servant looked out over the sea and said, "Nothing. Not a cloud on the horizon."

So Elijah prayed again. Still, there was nothing. So he prayed again. And again. And again. And again. Each time, his servant went to check the horizon. Each time, he saw  . . . absolutely . . . nothing.

This is what hit me. Seven times Elijah had to pray before that mist began to rise out of the sea. Seven times! Do you think he was wondering what was taking so long? I mean, the fire had been immediate. So why the wait now? Why was God not listening? Had He changed His mind and not told Elijah? Can you imagine that prophet looking over his shoulder and thinking, "Wow, glad all those priests aren't watching this now."

Okay, so Elijah may not have had those thoughts, LOL, but I probably would have. I probably would have thought round about prayer number four, "God, You promised! You promised!! 'Pray for rain,' You said, 'and I'll make it rain.' Well, I'm praying--so where's the rain?!"

But Elijah was faithful. We don't know how long each of these prayers was, but I have a feeling it was a little more in depth than, "Oh, Lord, please let it rain!" ;-) This man was prostrate before the Lord, begging. Begging for the rains to come. 

What if he had given up? What if he said, "Sigh. Maybe the Lord doesn't want me to be a prophet anymore."? Had he only prayed, say, five times, what would have become of Israel?

Doubt, discouragement is natural--the very next day, when Elijah hears that Jezebel is out to kill him, he forgets to pray and just runs. Runs. Even though God sent the fire, sent the rain, Elijah doesn't even think to ask him to save his life. But God catches up with him on the mountain he runs to, after sustaining him during the run.

God's always there while we're running. He's there while we're hiding in the cave. He's there while we're praying, stirring up the mists, even though we can't see them yet. He's there. Not in the whirlwind, not in the earthquake . . . in the whisper. In the whisper is the voice of the Lord, just waiting for us to quiet up enough to hear Him. Waiting for us to listen. Waiting for us to wait upon Him.

How many times have we prayed for the same thing? How many times do we not see it happen and get discouraged?

But the Lord is stirring up the mists in the sea while we pray. He's working in the mysteries we can't understand, working within our world, our time, our reality so that everything will line up just so for us. We can't see all that--our eyes are only human. 

But He's there. Preparing the rain. 

Our part is to stay on our knees until we see it.