A Christian Writer's World ~~ Characters who grip your heart

I love writing about monsters. I think they’re such powerful symbols for our everyday fears and struggles. Contrary to what many might think of a “horror” writer, I don’t like to be scared. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I write scary stories as a way of controlling the things in my life that are beyond my control. The nightly news is terrifying. Werewolves are fun. It’s fantasy, it’s an escape. Yeah, on the surface it looks dark because you’re dealing with monsters and death and whatnot, but at the end of the day, you can close that book or shut off that movie. It’s safely contained in the story and it’s a nice, accessible way to conquer your fear. Then you can carry that small amount of courage as you return to a world that seems to be slipping further into madness with each passing day.

Probably the day I got married to Meghan. Since I was little, all I had really wanted was to find my true love and start a life together, so meeting her and marrying her was a dream come true. I felt invincible that day. She rocks.

Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed my life a whole lot, I’d say. I’ve met a lot of new writer peers, so that’s been a blessing. But it’s not like anyone recognizes me on the street, and the money’s not pouring in. I still have a 9-5 day job and still worry about bills and still go eat at McDonald’s. It’s certainly not glamorous, but then again, I never expected it to be. The important thing to me has always been about finding that outlet to get my stories to people. I think the biggest change is within, as I feel fulfilled that The Coming Evil Trilogy is being told. I feel a real peace in that.

I’m currently reading my good friend Ed Erdelac’s book Merkabah Rider: Tales of a High Planes Drifter. It’s a “weird western”, and I’m really loving it. Ed’s got a great personable style and he does so much research into the period, you feel like you’re there. I’d say he’s gone a long way to inspire me to try my hand at a weird western one day.

At the moment, I’m working through my first (and quite possibly my last!) non-fiction effort—a timeline chronicling the stories of the Back to the Future franchise. It’s entirely unofficial—meaning it wasn’t commissioned by the actual rights holder—and it’s a lot of hard work. On the fiction side, I’m working on a couple pet projects, but nothing I’m prepared to announce just yet. As for the third and final installment in The Coming Evil Trilogy—it’s finished! I’ve turned it in to the editor and we’ll be working through the edits on that sometime in the fall. It’s going to be epic. Brace yourselves for a thrilling ride.

Oh, I’m totally a homebody. Any vacation is a dream to me if I’ve got a comfy hotel room and free cable. I enjoyed Universal Studios an awful lot, though. I’d like to return there.

I’m fond of the small town setting. Not only is it a horror movie staple, but I actually live in a small town, right here in the buckle of the Bible belt. I know about blue collar workers, and your word still meaning something, and sealing deals with handshakes. It’s a very safe environment—which is why I think it’s so much fun to drop a ravenous monster into all of that and watch the fireworks.

I suppose the “normal” response is to choose someone powerful or wizened in order to learn from their greatness. Or maybe a favorite author or actor so that you can somehow gain a clearer understanding of them as people. But I think if I’m going to spend an evening with someone, it’s someone I want to pal around with. So, on that note, I’d have to say it’s a toss up between “Fonzie” actor Henry Winkler, professional wrestler Rowdy Roddy Piper, and celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay.

I enjoy taking long drives in the country, by myself, listening to classic horror themes. Nothing like passing by old forgotten shacks to the sounds of the Dark Shadows opening music to soothe my soul. Beyond that, I love vegging out and watching movies. It’s nice to turn my brain off for awhile and just be entertained.

I have very defined and predictable cycles. I am absolutely not one of these writers who write every single day. I’ve tried that, and nothing good comes from it. Just a bunch of frustration, wasted time, and ruination. I only write when the mood comes over me. But it’s a very definite mood. It’s not a “Meh, I’d like to write today.” I wait and let it build until I can’t not write. When it’s nearly bursting out of me, then I sit down and crank out pages upon pages. I write all night, forgoing sleep, food, and personal relationships. That’ll last for maybe a week, maybe two. Then pure exhaustion follows and I am dried up. I got nothing left. I get a little depressed and worried that “I’ll never write again!”, and I struggle trying to find the ideas or, better yet, the words. The ideas are always there, but my ability to string together a cohesive and descriptive sentence is not. It then becomes a waiting game, waiting to—as I put it—catch that next wave. That dry spell, though, is rough. Sometimes I handle it well. I fill my time with family, fun, and friends. But sometimes I start to get the itch to write and I can’t. Not yet. The wave hasn’t fully developed yet. So patience is my most difficult writing obstacle. And, what can you do to overcome it, but wait and trust that it’ll come when it’s ready?

I usually say “be true to yourself”, but today I’m going to add “Don’t be afraid of critique.” Since getting published, I’ve met so many young authors trying to get in the door and they’re convinced they’ve got everything going for them. They think their story is stunningly unique yet insanely marketable (which I’m beginning to think is an oxymoron) and that their craft is perfection incarnate. I believe everyone has room for improvement, including me, yet I don’t fault them for writing like amateurs. But that attitude that you’re The Next Big Thing and anyone who doesn’t “get” you is just outdated is a killer. There’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance. You’ve got to be teachable in this business. Yes, you need to stick to your guns and be true to your vision—but you’ve got to be open to listening to others. Maybe they have good ideas. Maybe when they say your writing needs work, it does. Especially if these are people in the position to give you a job. It’s humbling and painful and nobody likes to hear that they’re not as good as Ole Joe over there, but you have to endure it, keep working at it, and try again.

Enemies of the Cross is the sequel to last year’s The Strange Man, and is the second act of The Coming Evil Trilogy. It picks up three months later and deals with the aftermath of the climatic confrontation at the end of the first book. This time, the story switches to Jeff Weldon, a burnt-out pastor trying to find answers as to what happened to his brother (Dras, the hero of the first book) and uncover the truth about the demonic Strange Man and what he has planned for their town of Greensboro. Jeff’s going to discover more than a few dark secrets and do battle with his own personal demons in the process. Whereas the first one was sort of a summer blockbuster roller-coaster kind of narrative, this one is a much more intense, introspective work.

—Philippians 3:2

The emergency room doors slapped open as workers rushed Dras Weldon in on a stretcher. Paramedics hovered over him, their faces a picture of cold determination. At their sides, Jeff Weldon, his wife Isabella, and Dras’s best friend Rosalyn Myers hurried along, covered in Dras’s blood and their faces stained by dried tears.

“It’s going to be OK,” Jeff whispered to his fallen brother. “It’s going to be OK. I’m right here.”

Despite his reassuring tone, Jeff held himself in contempt. Why didn’t I do anything to help him? I saw it coming.

Last Saturday, when Jeff spotted the rolling clouds of the storm that threatened to consume Greensboro, he had an uneasy suspicion that bad times were coming on horseback. When he read about Lindsey McCormick’s disappearance the following day, his anxiety grew. He didn’t know how, but her disappearance was a part of the terrible pull he felt in the pit of his stomach as he watched the strange storm from inside the safety of his home. The winds and the rain had wrought their damage and retreated into the darkness, but he could not shake the mood that some great evil lingered.

“Give us some room!” the paramedics shouted at Jeff and the others.

A tall blond nurse who answered to the name of Jill stood behind the front desk, her eyes wide. The paramedics stared at her impatiently as she struggled with the horrible sight.

“Where?” a member of the emergency team shouted at her, bringing her out of her stupor.

Stuttering, she pointed down the hall. “D-Doctor Brown will meet you in Room 107.”

I don’t think I do write myself in the characters, at least not consciously. I know that the main character in Accused is a composite of a couple of women I worked with, women who I considered great police officers. I did my job, and worked hard to be the best I could, but these two ladies always impressed me and far outshone me. They are still on the job, one is a deputy chief now and the other is a sergeant. I just thought they balanced work and life so well. But I will say that my characters do often reflect my faith, the struggles, the weaknesses and the strengths. They ask a lot of the same questions I ask and they need the Lord every bit as much as I do.

What is the quirkiest thing you have ever done?

I went to a Star Trek Convention several years ago. It was one of the first conventions held in Anaheim and William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy were both there. I consider Star Trek and all it’s spin offs one of my guilty pleasures but the convention was a bit much. I couldn’t relate to all the people running around in costume.

I’ve wanted to write since I was a child. I used to fill notebooks with stories about horses. But one incident in high school has stayed with me. I’d written an extra credit assignment for a health class. I don’t remember the topic, but I remember the teacher telling she enjoyed reading the assignment and wished she could give me extra, extra credit. She said I had a talent for writing. That little bit of encouragement went a long way.

Suspense and Mystery novels are my favorite, but I read biographies and historical fiction. Francine Rivers, Terri Blackstock, Randy Alcorn, Harlen Coben, Michael Connelly, Randy Singer, Catherine Marshall, and Elizabeth George are among my favorite authors. Francine Rivers’ books inspired me to write stories with a spiritual message.

My morning quiet time is precious to me. I need to start my day with time in the Word or everything is off key and out of balance. My church gives out Bible in a year book marks and I love following the reading guide. I also find that exercise is essential to relieving stress. Walking my two dogs every day is also a must.

How do you choose your characters’ names?

For my new book Accused, I chose the main character’s first name, Carly, as kind of a tribute to Randy Alcorn. I had just read his book Deadline (awesome book, really made an impact) and I named my main character after a character in his novel. In my book The Kevlar Heart, the main character’s name was part of the backstory. Brinna had issues with her father and part of it had to do with the fact that when she was born her Dad was certain she would be a boy and had picked out the name Brian. When a girl was born he just changed some letters around, didn’t even try to think of another name. But those are the only special names I can think of. Usually, I use names I like, that sound interesting. Once or twice, with permission, I have used the names of people I worked with.

This may sound odd, but I would have to say talking my aging parents into selling their big house and moving them to a smaller house. It was a battle that took a couple of years. My parents had lived in a big house with a lot of property for 40 years. But as they aged it got harder to take care of. My father was always the handyman, but when dementia set in, the house was pretty much falling down around them and the stress on my mom immense. Still, they adamantly refused to move. Finally, I was able to persuade my mom and we found a house she liked and made the move. Now, three years later, she is so happy with the new, manageable home. Now we have less stress, and it is easier for my dad to get around with his walker. I’m so glad I persisted.

An eagle. I would love the ability to fly, to soar above the world, to have the feeling of flying where God is.

Chocolate with caramel, hope that counts as a food.

My dad was my first roadblock, mostly because he grew up during the depression and steady, reliable work was an obsession. He discouraged my desire to write, believing it was a hobby, not a career. So I put the desire away when I went to college. The experience of working the front lines of the Rodney King riots that brought the desire back. I experienced so much during that chaos that I needed to write about it. I was on my own by then and even if writing was a hobby, it was an okay hobby. Once I sat down to write then, there really were no discernable roadblocks in my way. (Now selling the writing has many roadblocks, but that would be a different question and answer all together.)

Also for the last three years I have been the primary caregiver for my parents, and their health and sometimes doctor’s appointments and can keep me away from the computer, but the only roadblocks pop up when I procrastinate with computer games or some other such time waster. Discipline and wanting to put out the best story possible helps me bust the barriers down.

Accused is a story I started writing when I was still working juvenile investigations for the Long Beach Police Department. The idea came from a real life crime that was kind of gruesome, and I remember seeing the suspect who was a minor, in juvenile detention. I thought about the crime and the kid and played the “what if” game, settling on the question, what if he didn’t do it? To put the cuffs on someone you need to be fairly certain the person is guilty. So I had my main character, Carly, operating from that assumption initially, but then seeing things that just didn’t add up. I mixed in faith, an unfaithful ex husband, and the bad guys who need a fall guy, and went from there. I loved how Carly grew and changed in the novel and realized there were more stages for her so Accused is the first in a three book series. (But not gruesome like the original crime that spawned the idea!)

I often pose questions or dilemmas for my characters similar to those with which I’ve struggled. Sometimes those similarities are simple, but other times they are issues that have challenged me to my core—like how to stand against physical or emotional abuse, the courage to choose rightly when I know that choice will hurt someone I love, or how to know what God wants of me.

Just before my older sister’s summer wedding (I was her thirteen-year-old maid of honor), I was visiting my aunt. A severe storm had pummeled the island, and another was expected the next day. In anticipation, islanders and members of the Coast Guard had stacked sandbags along the shore. Early the next morning, though the wind was high and the crashing sea had already covered those bags, I climbed to their top and ran, barefoot, along their line (never bothering to read the warning signs forbidding such things).

It was exhilarating—the wind whipping my long black hair round my face and shoulders, my skirt flying round my legs like a ship’s sail gone berserk. Romantic lines raced through my brain, “as sure-footed as a mountain goat; as fleet as a gazelle; fearless in the face of danger,” etc., etc. I ran faster and faster—until I slipped on the bags and fell feet first into a gigantic oyster bed.

Over four decades later I still carry a scar on my wrist to remind me of those razor-sharp shells. The half-mile trek on bleeding feet back to my aunt’s home and the sting of iodine unsympathetically administered stole every ounce of adventure and romance from my mind—briefly. Quirky? Maybe. Painful? Foolish? Yes. But it’s one of the thrilling highlights of my memory.

I knew I wanted to write from the moment my grandmother revealed to me (at five years of age) the astounding fact that books are not created by magic, but that “real people write books.” In fourth grade one of my poems was selected by my teacher to be included on a mimeographed page and presented to the class as part of our Christmas celebration. Seeing my poem “in print” and realizing that others valued the ideas I’d conveyed was a thrilling moment for me. I remember thinking, “This is the beginning. This is the first one.”

My Bible first and foremost—it grows more precious and exciting each day. Books on organization fascinate me because I struggle with that. I enjoy reading gardening, do-it-yourself, cookbooks, histories and books of crafts from long ago, poignant YA and some family sagas. I love historical fiction, mysteries, classics, quirky humor and slice of life stories. The most important thing to me is a great story, well written, with a compelling or distinctive voice.

Prayer—all day long I keep a running conversation with the Lord, which reminds me that I’m not in this alone. And while I take my writing seriously, I try hard not to take myself too seriously. I confess to living nose-to-the-grindstone and feeling overwhelmed sometimes, so am working on developing and maintaining more balance in my life.

I start by researching first and last names (and their meanings) that were common in the era and location of my story’s setting—and then I search for uncommon names, often found in diaries and letters from the period. Next, I identify my story characters’ leading traits and try to match characters with names that convey the ideas of those traits. For instance, the primary villain in Promise Me This is named “Hargrave” because her heart is “hard” and cold as the “grave.”

I take into account that particular letters and their combinations evoke mental images (physical, mental, emotional, spiritual) when said aloud, as does the unique spelling of a name printed on the page. All of those things go into making a character seem more like a “Scarlett O’Hara” or a “Ben Hur” rather than some less suited name.

And, then, there are times that I’m just partial to a name or wish to honor someone I know or knew—if their name fits the character and era.

Raising my children. I love them with all of my heart and am very proud of the people they’ve become. Both are loving, giving, and compassionate adults, able to lead but quick to serve and help those around them. In every other way they’re extremely different. They fill my life to overflowing.

A horse. I love the strength, stamina and beauty of horses. I love to see them in full run—so independent and free. But they’re also affectionate and bond strongly with people. They can work hard alone and well as a team—with their riders or with other horses, side by side. Those are qualities I admire.

Blackberry Crumble Pie—the recipe for my son’s birthday pie—with vanilla ice cream. It tastes of summer—Yum!!!

My greatest roadblock was insecurity and fear: not believing I could figure out a plot, build it up, wind it down, and tie up all those loose ends; not believing I could sustain a reader’s interest or write something that others would want to read. I feared failure, but not as much as I feared getting old and not having tried. I expected the road to be long and hard and that I’d learn something new at every junction; I’ve not been disappointed.

Sometimes people have said to me, “I’d never have stuck at it that long.”

But the notion of quitting astounds me. If I needed to walk from Maine to Florida I wouldn’t think of giving up in North Carolina. I overcame my fears by praying constantly, believing that God had given me the passion to write for a purpose, and walking forward each day. The wonderful surprise was that I’ve not had to walk the trail alone—many wonderful sisters and brothers in Christ walk it with me.

Promise Me This –Michael Dunnagan was never supposed to sail on the Titanic, nor would he have survived if not for the courage of Owen Allen. Determined to carry out his promise to care for Owen’s family in America and his younger sister Annie in England, Michael works hard to strengthen the family’s New Jersey gardening and landscaping business.

I’d love to hear from you! Visit my website at www.cathygohlke.com . A new website (same address) that includes recipes my characters loved and photos of locations that inspired Promise Me This will be up and running soon.

Thank you so much for having me, Lena. I’ve loved spending time with you and your readers!

I literally can’t remember a time as a young child when I didn’t feel God’s presence in my life.  I can’t remember not knowing that I was His.  He was the third parent who would be there with me and listen to me, even after bedtime when my own parents were tired of my yammering and just wanted me to hush up.  As I grew up and was baptized, I drew a different and deeper sense of our relationship to our father and creator.  I think we’re always seeking to better understand the many dimensions of God--to internalize how broad and deep that relationship really is.  It isn’t fully possible, I know.  How can the finite ever really understand the infinite?

The farthest I ever came from being active a faith life was in the young adult college years, when it seemed that just wasn’t the focus of anyone around me.  There weren’t as many campus ministries back then, and it just seemed like church was a “When you go home to visit” thing for everyone.  It’s amazing how God uses the events in your life to fit you for a particular purpose, though, because this is one of the reasons I teach Sunday school for high school seniors today.  I want them to see the value of plugging into a faith community in college and being active during this time when they’re making so many of life’s big decisions.  It can make all the difference in the choices they make and the outcomes they receive. 

Oh, that is hard!  I want a retreat with fifty authors!  There are so many I admire as writers and so many I love as friends.  I guess if I had to pick four, I would retreat with the girls I blog with on www.SouthernBelleView.com, Beth Webb Hart, Marybeth Whalen, Rachel Hauck, and Shellie Rushing Tomlinson.  We have so much chatting over life and sharing glasses of cyber-tea on our online front porch, and when we do have the chance to get together in person, it is a blast.   They are a joy to be with!

I do quite a lot of speaking to groups of all sorts, for everything from women’s retreats, to banquets, to professional conferences, to book clubs.  Writing is such a solitary profession, and it is a joy to get out and talk to real people.  When I was little, if you’d asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, “professional speaker” would not have been anywhere on the list, I can promise you.  I was the kid who was mortified in the first grade when I figured out that, if I put my hand over my eyes, the teacher could still see me and call on me to read out loud. 

One of my favorite things about book travel is that I often meet people who have read my books, and they share stories of what the books have meant to them.  It’s an incredible gift to have someone tell you, “This book made me write my mother a letter after fifteen years,” or “This story made me stop seeing taking care of my aging parents as such a burden,” or even, “This made me laugh during a terrible time in my life.”  As much fun as creating fictional people is, it’s the connections with real people that matter most.

Well, I embarrass myself all the time because I tend to have “duh” moments whenever names are involved.  There are days when, honestly, I think I could forget the names of my own children and pets.  The only good thing is that I’m to the point where I can pass it off as a result of  the dreaded EO-FB (Episodic Over-Forty Brain) disease.  Typically I could tell you everything about a person and I could replay what we’ve talked about, but I couldn’t give you a name, to save my life.  Even if a name does come to me, at this point, I’m afraid I’m wrong.  I probably am.  If I get to the Pearly Gates someday, and a fill-in-the-blank quiz with names is involved, I may be in serious trouble ;o)

This question comes up a lot when I’m out speaking and via email.  Here’s what I usually tell people:

--Finish the manuscript.  Just learning to write from “Once upon a time…” to “The end” is the thing that stops most people.  It’s almost impossible for an unpublished writer to sell an unfinished manuscript.

--Don’t worry about making it perfect, just finish the manuscript (Did I say that already)?  It’s a lot easier to make something out of something than something out of nothing.

--Don’t pay anybody for anything, unless you know exactly what you’re getting for the money and you have checked references.  There are so many scams floating around in any entertainment-oriented business.  I’ve stopped a few people just short of spending money they couldn’t afford on publishing services that were making ridiculous promises.

--Believe in your story.  God wouldn’t have put it inside you unless it had value.  You may need to work on it.  You may need to work very hard and long, even, but that thing that’s inside you is there for a reason.

--While you’re trying to sell the first book, write a second.  You have more than one story in you, waiting to be told.

Booklist called Blue Moon Bay "A warm and expressive modern twist on the parable of the Prodigal Son, or, in this case, Prodigal Daughter."  That's a pretty good nutshell for this story (I just found out that the book got a starred review from Booklist, by the way.  If you heard squealing from Central Texas last week, that was me). 

When Heather Hampton’s family falls into conflict over the sale of the family land, she is forced to return to the family funeral home in tiny Moses Lake, Texas to sort things out and deal with a family mystery and the unresolved wounds of the past.  But when local banker, Blaine Underhill, and Heather's crazy family get involved, all bets are off. Suddenly, Heather's quick trip to Texas leads to Valentine's Week in the family funeral home, and a revelation that could change Heather's life forever. 

**Right now, we have something brand new going on – a contest in which one reader can win the chance to “Join the cast” of the next Moses Lake book (Firefly Island, 2013) by becoming one of the townsfolk in Moses Lake.  I think it will be so much fun to write a reader into the story!  For more information and entry form, go to: www.lisawingate.com/jointhecast

Blogging Mondays at: www.SouthernBelleView.com

My website: www.Lisawingate.com

I never try to write myself into my characters. My characters simply show up and present themselves fully or else I get to know them slowly, but I never try to base them on me. That would be terribly boring. What is interesting is that at the end of a book, usually when I’m out promoting it, I will get a better look at a character and realize there was a bit of me in there. Usually, I add little facets of people I know or have loved to craft a character. The best characters, while wholly unlike me, teach me something about myself and my world.

When I went off to college my freshmen year, I was blown away by the freedom of thought and all of the activities one could participate in. My first week of school, I had heard about a Walk for Peace, and that sounded exciting and right up my alley. However, I set out to find the walk and could not on the new large campus. Undeterred, I went back to my dorm room, drew a peace sign on my forehead and walked my own “Peace Walk” alone on campus. My sister was a senior there, and when she found out what I did, she nearly disowned me. I’ve been walking my “own walk” ever since.

I discovered I was a writer when my first character, Essie Mae Laveau Jenkins, of my first novel, The Spirit of Sweetgrass, began to write her story through me. I have not looked back.

I love reading books in which I can travel to foreign places and see universal qualities in people who are very different than myself. I’ve enjoyed Khaled Hosseini, Amy Tan, Lisa See, but also wildly different authors such as Harper Lee, JK Rowling, Elizabeth Kostova, Sara Gruen, River Jordan, Sue Monk Kidd. I also enjoy the books that I blurb as they are not always something I might normally pick up for myself. Right now, I am reading a legal thriller that takes place in the Lowcountry, and finding it lots of fun.

Lately, I’ve started running literally, and I’ve found that the slow pacing and endurance I’m learning on the road is a nice metaphor for my life. But daily you will find me in prayer. As my grandmother used to tell us “Always go first class,” meaning, put Jesus at the wheel.

I often change the original names that I give my characters. It’s sort of like naming a pet. You’ve got to get to know them a little before a name will fit. Often, somewhere in the writing of the book, I will hear a name or read one that seems to fit my character better and then do a Find and Replace on the whole manuscript. In my new novel Beyond Molasses Creek, my character Vesey Washington was named after a man who attempted a slave rebellion in Charleston, Denmark Vesey. I wanted a name to capture the strength and courage of a man who ultimately must face hardship.

One of the best things I ever did was to try to put God first in my life. After doing this, he gave me a wonderful husband and two children. I am most pleased with being a mom and husband to the people I love the most in the world.

I would definitely be a cat. I love them, understand them, and as a child I would daydream about being a cat and being able to nap and have my back rubbed instead of going to school.

I love ethnic foods of all kinds—sushi, Indian, Mexican—basically anything that I can order SPICY!

When I wrote my fifth novel, I turned it in to my publisher and they had issues with it, one of them being the age of my characters. Up until then, there had been no real issues with my other books. It shook the ground beneath me. By this point, I thought I knew what I was doing. I had to pick my self-confidence off the floor and find the courage to write a whole new novel—with the same characters. Thankfully, I persevered and The Inheritance of Beauty was published the following year. I have learned to never get comfortable or rest on my past experience. Every new book is a challenge, and honestly, that’s pretty exciting.

Beyond Molasses Creek is the story of love and friendship in the confines of social barriers. It’s about captivity and freedom, running away and coming home. Ally Green has been running away as a flight attendant her whole life but must now come home to the Lowcountry of South Carolina to bury her father. When she discovers his last wishes for her to finally stay put on Molasses Creek and rekindles a deep friendship with Vesey Washington, the black man across the creek, once her childhood friend, she wrestles with staying or fleeing again. In alternating points of view, we dive into the story of Sunila, a young woman a world away in Nepal who has just escaped a stone quarry where she has worked her whole life in indentured bondage. She has taken a sketchbook that she believes holds the key to her future and questions from the past. These three lives become intertwined and weave together a tale of redemption on the banks of Molasses Creek.

“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” – Michaelangelo

When I was a girl, I would lie on the banks of Molasses Creek with soft green grass beneath my back and look up into the sky, dreaming of being there. In my upside-down world, the clouds were pieces of land that I would hop to and the vast blue sky was the river, the ocean that would beckon to transport me far, far away. That vast blue sky has taken me to all sorts of foreign lands since then. Sometimes the most foreign place is home.

I’ll be flying again in just a few minutes, cloud-hopping back to a city I never thought I’d see again.

I close my eyes and imagine myself feeling weightless again, my body traveling at five hundred miles and hour yet perfectly still. Someone clears a throat. I open my eyes and see a woman before me in uniform, standing at the podium. She’s holding out her hand. “Oh, yes,” I say. I reach in my bag and pull out my wallet. Through the airport window, a jet leaves the wet runway and rises into thick gray rain.

I love to connect with readers. You can visit my web site at www.nicoleseitz.com or find me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Nicole-Seitz/121816365611 and on Twitter, twitter.com/#!/nicoleseitz . Hope to see you soon!

I find others much more interesting than I am, so character traits of friends and family inevitably wind up in my characters. I’m sure, however, that subconsciously I’ve woven threads of myself into my stories. It’s probably more apparent to others than to me.

I make up stories for my blog about our animals. I have them arguing, fighting, going on adventures. Sometimes, I wonder what people may think of me, but the fun I have writing the tales outweighs any of that.

When I was eight years old, I began keeping a diary. I also started a little magazine that year which folded within a week, but I think the desire started then.

I love Southern Fiction and Coming of Age stories, which is what I write, but I also read a lot of Christian nonfiction.

My day is centered every morning in God and his word. In addition to my regular devotions, this year I’m reading the One Year Chronological Bible. This version offers an interesting perspective while reading through the scriptures as they actually occurred.

Sometimes I use family names. Sometimes I research names and use ones that bear a meaning that only I may know about. That meaning however helps define the character.

I’m most proud of my precious children. We home schooled for eight years, and I’m thankful God allowed me to have that extra time with them.

I love all kinds of animals, but I’d love to experience the freedom that birds feel when they soar through the sky, the wind against their breast and under their wings.

I love breads made of whole grains. But I’ll take other kinds as well.

My biggest obstacle has been to believe in myself. I’m blessed to have a husband and sister who’ve continually encouraged me to persist. This writing journey is not for the faint of heart and when the rejections come, one has to learn to shake it off and keep working.

Fourteen-year-old Mary Helen wants things to stay the same—small, safe, and protected-- but her world starts to unravel when cancer strikes her mother. Mary Helen is sent from her home in Asheville, North Carolina, to St. Simons Island, Georgia, to live with her eccentric artist aunt. The island, Mary Helen soon discovers, is surrounded by the marshes made famous by the poet Sidney Lanier.

Surprised by her aunt’s ways and island culture, all Mary Helen wants to do is return home, but then she meets Ben, whose passion for the island opens her mind to new possibilities. What happens next sends her on a challenging journey of self-discovery. Will Mary Helen embrace the changes in her life, which may lead to something greater than she’s ever dreamed, or will she continue to cling to all that’s familiar?

Whichever she chooses, one thing’s for sure—she’ll never forget the summer she first saw the marshes of Glynn.

Chapter One

A Big Loss

Seeing the world takes more than just physical eyesight. Your heart also has to see.

            As I sit at the marsh border, I take the pen from my backpack to ink the Southern-flavored utterances of the character cast in my head. From a cloudless cerulean sky, the calls of two herring gulls distract me, interrupting this otherwise tranquil June morning—a morning in many ways like the inaugural morning I spent here over two decades ago as a fourteen-year-old girl on St. Simons Island. The dark anxiety I felt then obscured my vision … I never saw the gulls. Not for a long time.

Today, the gulls join a group of feathery comrades and soar out toward East Beach. A sultry breeze, pungent with the aroma of an ebbing tide, tosses my hair and meanders on to the expanse of golden marsh where I often still hear her voice when the grass ruffles in waves to the blue horizon: “Mary Helen, did I ever tell you the story about …?”

            As I touch pen to paper, a scream from behind me splits the calm, and a painful smack sends me tumbling toward the marsh, where I end up on my back in tall, thick grass. The coolness of murky water seeps through my shorts and shirt. Out of the confusion, a woman’s voice emerges.

            “Are you all right? I’m so sorry.”

            Hands are on me, brushing debris away. I shake my head to re-orient, manage to rub the point of impact on my back, and look at my hand. No bleeding. I shake my head again. As I try to focus my eyes against the eastern sun, a young woman hovers over me.

            “You’re a mess. Can I help you up?” she asks.

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