A Most Cherished Lesson by Mischelle Creager

I'm pleased to welcome my friend Mischelle Creager back to Seriously Write. When I first asked Mischelle about visiting with us, she sent me two posts to see if either would work. They were both terrific so I scheduled her for two visits! I hope you'll run over to Amazon and download The Rose and The Thorn. It's free and it is the first book in her MacPherson Brides Books.

Like most writers, I can say that I have learned a lot of lessons about life since I started this journey—things like discipline, balancing my writing and the other parts of my life (especially time with my family), rejection, and so many other things. But the lesson that I am most thankful for is one I learned as I finished a certain scene in the first book of my MacPherson Brides series.

To better understand the situation you need to know that for me, many things changed after the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995. While I don’t need to go into all the details, I will say that before that day, life was bright and exciting. After that day, things turned dark. Things got worse when on Mother’s Day we visited the site as the employees (my husband worked there) and their families were allowed inside the fence to lay wreaths by department at the base of the ruble. As we left, a single bagpiper played “Amazing Grace.”

Sometime later on a Sunday night at church, the song leader led “Amazing Grace. I had a flashback to the time at the site—the sights, the smells, the sounds. When I was leaving the building, the preacher touched my arm, tipped his head toward the auditorium, and asked “What happened in there?” I explained. The next time we started to sing that song, I froze and started counting the bumps on the upholstery on the back of the pew in front of me. I got to where I was afraid to go to church, not knowing when we would sing that song again. This went on for over a year. Thankfully, at a survival workshop, a therapist helped me work through the situation and “Amazing Grace” has become one of my favorite hymns.

Now to the lesson, when I was writing the first book of the series, I had a character who had gone through a very abusive marriage. In church one morning, she connects what is going on there (the words of the song/sermon) with the abuse in her marriage. I wrote what she had gone through—her pain, her flashback, how she had to count the stitches on the shawl the lady in front of her wore to take her mind off the remembered horrors. When I finished the scene, I looked at it and dropped my head. For the first time, I thanked God for what I had gone through after the bombing, for the ability to understand such pain, to know that He allowed me to go through what I had so I’d be able to reach out to others who would need those words of understanding of their pain.

Thank you, God, for knowing what we need and being with us as we go through the growing pains that prepare us for the life You have for us.

Mischelle Creager writes inspirational historical romances set in the mid-1800s. She's not sure which she loves more--researching or writing. When she's not doing one of those two things, she can probably be found reading or baking. She love to share her historical research and has a website Under The Attic Eaves, filled with tidbits she's found in books written in the 19th Century. She also "reprints" a historical magazine, Worbly's Family Monthly Magazine, filled with items from books and magazines published in the middle of the 1800s. You can visit these two sites at http://undertheatticeaves.com/ and http://worblysmagazine.com.

 

If you would like to know more about Mischelle, please visit her author website at http://mischellecreager.com.

What We Bring To A Story by Heidi Chiavaroli

Last weekend, after the kids were snuggled in their beds, my husband and I settled down to watch Titanic. I was a sophomore in high school when the movie first came out and I watched it several times as a sixteen-year-old, completely engrossed in Jack and Rose's love story.

Last Saturday night, when I made the suggestion to dear hubby that we watch the movie, I looked forward to reliving the romance and adventure.

But I was in for a surprise. One scene (really a snip of a scene) shook me to the core and had tears pouring down my cheeks. And strangely enough, it had nothing to do with Jack and Rose. In fact, I had barely noticed the scene when watching Titanic as a starry-eyed teenager. So why the emotions? Twelve years later, I am a different person. I brought something different to this story: my experience of motherhood.

The scene that grabbed my thoughts wasn't the one I latched onto years earlier—that of Rose releasing Jack to the cold ocean depths at the end of the movie. I was prepared for that. I knew the inevitable. Rather, the scene that took me by surprise was of an underprivileged mother and her two children. They'd been locked beneath the ship to die. Water pooled around them. The mother leaned over her little ones cuddled on a bottom bunk, stroked their foreheads, and told them a story. Calmly. As if this night were like all the others.

The scene was but five seconds, but it tugged at my heartstrings in a deeply personal way and sent my imagination flying. How would I react in such a circumstance? Could I be so brave? What stories would I tell my children? What sweet words of Jesus would I whisper in their little ears?

And why did the scene barely impact me all those times I'd seen it years earlier? Had my heart been cold? Did I not value children?

I don't think any of these were the case. In fact, it was what I now brought with me to the story. My children are the same age as those in the movie. I could relate to this poor mother's predicament in a way I couldn't as a sophomore in high school.

A good story is one that evokes emotion from a reader. A skilled author creates characters and situations that draw on our own emotional experiences. Love, protection, fear, hopelessness. We all know these feelings. It's a writer's job to tap into them, and it’s a writer’s job to know the audience they are writing for so that they can accomplish this well.

How do you go about relating to your audience in your stories?

Heidi Chiavaroli is a writer, runner, wife, mother, and grace-clinger—not necessarily in that order. Ever since taking her first trip to Plimoth Plantation with her sister, mother, and grandmother at the age of nine, she has been fascinated with history and its significance to today’s people and culture. Heidi is the winner of ACFW’s 2014 Genesis Contest, Historical Category. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband, two sons, and Howie, her standard poodle. Learn more about Heidi on her website: www.heidichiavaroli.com.

Heidi will join us on the third Thursday each month.

Fatherhood and Forgiveness

Fatherhood and Forgiveness

by Mary Manners

 



 

I truly hope you had a blessed Father's Day. My dad's been gone more than a decade, but the holiday got me to thinking about him (as I so often do) and a special memory from my childhood days...

 

My seventh birthday was a momentous occasion mainly because in my family, turning seven meant I was sure to receive what I imagined, in my child’s mind, to be the greatest gift of all—a shiny new bike.

It was a beauty—a splash of bubblegum pink with streamers flowing from curved handlebars. Pedal brakes and a chunky banana seat rounded out the mix. One look and I knew that suddenly I had my freedom, my independence, and the power to travel all the way to…the end of the block. It was better than the confines of our meager, chain-linked back yard. I grew up in Chicago, after all, and the streets could be a dangerous place.

My dad taught me how to ride. An hour, a few scrapes and bumps later, and I was ready to go. No helmets back then and no fancy riding gear…just the wind at my back and pure pedal power. Dad outlined the riding boundaries, cautioning me not to cross the street at either end of the block or the alley that ran behind our house. Cars were dangerous.

Dad’s firm warning rang through my mind for the first week or so, at least until my sister challenged me to a race around the block. We’d ride off in opposite directions, keeping our progress top-secret, until one of us returned to the starting line—and victory—at the front of our house.

Guilt niggled as I launched myself, pedaling into the wind. To circle the block and claim my victory I’d have to cross the alley twice, breaking my dad’s rule. Yet, the desire to be one of the ‘Big Kids’ along with my sister only served to make me pedal faster. The sky smiled clear-blue as the streets whispered encouragement. What could possibly go wrong?

Closing in on the alley, I picked up speed. The faster I crossed, the faster I would be done. No sound of an engine, nary a car in sight. Perfect until…

Crash!

My gaze kissed the cerulean sky as the front tire of my bike plowed a canyon into the passenger door of an approaching Chevy station wagon. I sailed over the hood to sprawl, several yards beyond, across the unyielding concrete.

Needless to say, in the time it took for the frantic driver to scoop me off the cement, I knew that I suffered a much worse fate than losing the race to my sister. I’d broken my father’s steadfast rule. There was no choice but to return home and confess my transgression. The evidence was clearly etched over my cheeks…and my knees…and across my throbbing elbows.

But, just as it is with my Heavenly Father, Dad was more concerned about my welfare than my transgression. He cleaned my wounds and we had a long talk. Dad repaired my bike and eventually my bruises—both physical and emotional—healed.

I learned a valuable lesson that day, one that remains with me decades later. Boundaries are set for a reason—not to confine but to protect with the deepest love. Yet, even when our free will takes us across a dangerous road or down a shadowed alley, God our Father welcomes us home with open arms and forgiveness. Thank goodness for grace...and for fathers.



 

~~~~~

 

Stolen Miracles

 

 

 

Rebecca Gillespie is lucky to be alive following a devastating car accident that claimed her husband’s life and put her in a coma with little hope of recovery. Her heart still aches for the loss of her precious daughter given up for adoption by her wealthy, dying mother-in-law to a couple in Mills Landing. Now, fully recovered, Rebecca struggles to rebuild her life—alone. She soothes the emptiness in her heart with laughter of children who fill her local preschool, Precious Miracles.

 

Cole Seibert clings to his daughter, Kimmy, following the dea th of his wife. They’d adopted the child as an infant, and Cole never imagined he’d be left to raise her alone. When he drops by to register Kimmy at Precious Miracles, he’s confident the center is the best place for Kimmy…Until Rebecca steals his breath and casts his heart into a firestorm with her revelation--

“I think you have my daughter…”

~~~~~

 



Mary Manners is an award-winning romance writer who lives in the beautiful foothills of East Tennessee with her husband Tim and the cherished cats they've rescued from local animal shelters...Lucky and Gus. She loves swimming, running, flavored coffee and Smoky Mountain sunsets.

Mary was named Author of the Year by Book and Trailer Showcase. She writes inspirational romances of all lengths, from short stories to novels—something for everyone.

Learn more about Mary Manners at her website: www.MaryMannersRomance.com.