Labels

Labels

by | Jul 23, 2026 | Thoughtful Thursdays

Labels. They have a wonderful purpose. They help us to classify things, to understand them. They make it easy to find what we’re looking for. I’m a big fan of labels in many things–on the clothes on the rack in a store, on my spice jars, on food. And many more places too, of course.

Labels help us to know what we’re getting. And that matters. But I can admit it–I chafe against labels, when they’re applied in other ways. I don’t generally like it when they’re applied to me. And I also don’t like it when they’re applied to my stories.

This is something I struggled with a lot as a new writer. I remember way back in 2005, when I was pregnant with my daughter, I attended an RWA (Romance Writers of America) meeting as a guest. Naturally, “romance” as a genre came up in conversation, and I said something (very uninformed) about how most stories have some romance in them. At the time, I had just put out the very first version of A Stray Drop of Blood, and in my mind, it was a romance.

Y’all, it is not a romance. Some very patient woman with way more experience than I had explained very quickly and offhandedly that in order to meet the definition of a romance, a book had to meet certain expectations and follow some rules. All of which my book did not do. What this woman was telling me was that “romance” is a label that carries a very specific meaning with it. And what’s more, that when people pick up a book with that label, they expect it to hit certain notes.

A Stray Drop of Blood is a love story. But it is not a romance. It’s best classified simply as “historical fiction” or the sub-genre of historical, “biblical fiction.” This was a realization I had to wrestle into place.

And it’s a lesson I carried forward in my writing. I will be honest. I don’t always like genre labels still. But I know their purpose. And so, I’ve embraced them. Because I want my readers to trust me. I want them to know that when they pick up a book of mine labeled “historical romance,” they can be 100% sure they’re going to get a Happily Ever After (HEA, as we call it in in the biz), and that the romance is a key part of the story.

At the same time, there’s still a bit of rebel in me, LOL. When people say “Oh, I don’t like romance,” some part of me really wants to say, “And yet plenty of people who ‘don’t like romance’ read and love my books and tell me they’re not ‘JUST romance.’ So maybe what you mean is that you don’t like certain types of romance.” Same goes for other labels like “Christian fiction.” I absolutely, 100% write Christian fiction. Faith is always a central theme in my stories. But if I’m talking to someone who doesn’t share my faith (or if I’m not sure if they do) and they ask my what I write, I usually drop that label and just say “historical fiction” (if it’s a guy) or “historical romance” (if it’s a girl). I give them the label that is TRUE but which I think they’ll most be drawn to. Just playing Paul a bit. 😉 Not to try to deceive, but to try to get to what lies beneath the label.

Because while labels help us find what we want…they also lead us to dismiss things, even when we shouldn’t. They give us an excuse not to try something. To fall into prejudice.

Most recently, I’ve been thinking about labels because of what, in the book world, has come to be called “spice.” “Spicy” books have open-door sex scenes. So those books that don’t have that have come to be called “no-spice” or even “no spice romances.” Other variations were “closed-door” or “clean” or “wholesome.”

All of these labels come with problems, and some people I highly respect have talked about it with more eloquence than I could. Sometimes the problem is that the term is unclear: “closed door” could mean that the characters don’t have sex outside of marriage, but it can also mean that they do, but the author “closes the door” and doesn’t show it on-page. But it could also mean that characters are married, so of course they’re doing married-people-things, but it’s not described. (I do have some books where characters get married and, by the end of the book, have consummated said marriage–so technically, those books would be “closed door.” Because we know what’s going on, but we don’t need to see it.)

Sometimes the problem is that the term carries a blanket moral judgment, as with “clean.” 

Lately, I’ve had books featured by readers and reviewers who build their platform on “no spice” and also no bad language, no explicit violence, and so on. I’ve joined multi-author cross-promotions that rely on this label too. Because my books fit the label. That’s cool.

And yet…I’ve been chafing at said label, and it’s taken some self-examination to figure out why. And I think it comes down to another review I’ve gotten recently.

See, Guideposts put my Island Shop books in an Instagram tour this summer through a group called BookSparks. They hosted a summer reading challenge called “The Book Odyssey,” and I’ve had fun seeing my books pop up in the travels of readers and reviewers well outside my normal circle. I soon realized that this group was not strictly a Christian-book group. Which can be terrifying for someone who writes obviously-Christian fiction, given the horror stories we’ve all heard about 1-star reviews simply for being Christian.

But instead, I found that these new-to-me-readers were enjoying the stories for what they were. The whole point of the challenge was to explore new books as travelers would explore new cities or countries, and that’s what they did. I was continually delighted to be tagged in these posts from strangers and to find that they appreciated both The Island Bookshop and The Island Bakeshop because of their beach settings, their relationships, their banter, their sweet romances. 

One reader, however, said something like, “I’m surprised at how much I liked these. I usually want at least some spice in my books, and these are no-spice. But I still really enjoyed them.”

And that’s when the label started to chafe. Because yes, it serves a very real and very necessary purpose–to let people who don’t want that in their books know that they won’t find it here. Awesome. I approve. 😉 But as with all labels, it does the opposite too–it tells people to steer clear. This can also be a good thing–it helps eliminate those low reviews, if people don’t know what they’re getting and don’t like what they get.

But I love when readers throw labels to the wind and just read. When they pick something up and give it a chance anyway and find that they love something, even if it’s not they’re norm.

So I guess maybe it’s not the labels themselves that I chafe at. I think maybe it’s the fact that we, as people, fall back on them so much. I don’t mind labeling my books…but I need to be careful not to let labels alone guide me.

And people? This is where it gets really important, which is something I talked about a lot in 2025 around the release of The Collector of Burned Books. Because it isn’t just clothes or food or books that we apply labels to, right? It’s people. And even when we give ourselves those labels–Christian, Catholic, Protestant, wife, mother, friend, American, Canadian, Australian, Conservative, Liberal–we need to remember that that’s not all we are.

And so, it’s not all anyone else is either. Just like my books–they are romance, yes. But they’re not ONLY romance. They are no-spice, yes. But the spice level is not what the book is about. They are Christian, yes. But it’s not a slapped-on, preachy kind of Christianity.

We all have labels. They help define certain aspects–of us, of our beliefs, of our stances, of our nationality, of our ethnicity. But we are MORE than our labels. And so are they.

Labels can help us in so many ways…as long as we never forget that they’re just one little sticker trying to help you understand something really complicated. When we apply them, we need to do it wisely. And we must never, ever forget that Jesus sought out those with labels that usually meant they were dismissed, and He gave them a new one. The only one we really need:

Redeemed.

Word of the Week – Pickle

Word of the Week – Pickle

by | Jul 20, 2026 | Word of the Week

I admit it–I don’t like pickles. In fact, it goes beyond “don’t like.” I genuinely hate pickles. And so, I naturally assume I’ll dislike anything with the word “pickled” attached. 

But what we today call pickles–cucumbers that have been brined–are not what the word originally meant. Pickle has been around as an English word since about 1400, but our definition, specifically pickled cucumbers, is only from 1707. Because, you see, pickle originally meant that brine that something was soaked in for preservation. The origins of the process are a bit murky, but one historian suggests that it was a process developed by a Dutch fisherman after whom the process was named.

When the word appeared in English, it was used not only for brine but also meant “a spiced sauce served with meat.” So the phrase in a pickle, meaning to be in a difficult or sorry situation, actually comes from that meaning, believe it or not! It dates from 1560, referring to that sauce about to be eaten–certainly a difficult spot to find oneself in. 😉 

And here’s a new one for me–round about 1788, it was also used to refer to a troublesome boy. Have you heard that one? The idea is that they were imbued with trouble like something soaked in a pickle (brine). I’m going to have to find an excuse to call someone that! LOL

What Comes from Doubt

What Comes from Doubt

by | Jul 16, 2026 | Thoughtful Thursdays

A couple weeks ago, the Church celebrated the feast day of the Apostle Thomas.

One of the first readings for the day reminded us that Thomas was known as “the twin.” Okay. That makes sense–no doubt he had a twin brother (or sister, though I’m taking a wild guess and saying he’d only be known as “the twin” if he were one of identical twins) running around somewhere, though we never hear about him (or her). To be known by that nickname in those days, when you were often differentiated from others with the same first name by whose son you are, that isn’t strange at all.

But it’s not how we remember Thomas, is it? We don’t remember him for being a twin. We don’t remember him for the fact that he took the Gospel to India. We remember him for one thing, by one name:

Doubting

Doubting Thomas

Ever since I learned that Thomas did, in fact, go on to do some amazing missionary work (and is remembered better for that in other parts of the world), I couldn’t help but think we’ve given him a raw deal in our memories. And as I was pondering Thomas recently and reading the other Scriptures we have that mention him, something even more striking stood out to me.

Yes, Thomas doubted. He wasn’t there the first time Jesus appeared to the disciples after His resurrection, and when his friends greeted him upon his return with, “Yo, Thomas! You won’t believe it! Jesus–He’s alive again!” Thomas responded in a very human, very understandable way.

Because why wouldn’t he? If you showed up at a friend’s house a few days after another friend’s funeral and were told, “He’s alive again!” you’d look at that friend like they were nuts. Because people don’t just rise from the dead. You’d probably worry that the grief had made them go a little crazy. You might even wonder (depending on the friend) if they were trying to pull a really bad joke over on you (and this was Peter, so…don’t put it past him).

So yeah. Thomas replied with, “I’ll believe it when I see it. And actually, not just see it–I’m gonna have to touch the nail prints in His hand.” (This is, of course, the Roseanna Paraphrase, LOL.)

Thomas was in a place of logic. I don’t think it was just doubt…it was rather belief in what he KNEW. He KNEW that Jesus had been crucified. He KNEW that He had died. He KNEW that He’d been buried.

What else did He know? He knew that Jesus was the Son of God. By this point, Peter had first declared that, and Jesus had praised him for it, so I think it’s safe to say all the disciples had embraced that declaration.

But here’s the thing–no one knew what that meant. Because there had never been a Son of God like this, fully man but something more, born of a virgin, untouched by sin. Jesus was something, someone new. Until this time, the phrase “Son of God” (or the plural “sons” anyway) had been used before but to talk about righteous people in general. Similarly, Jesus frequently called himself the “Son of Man,” and that phrase, too, had been used for other prophets.

Those previous righteous men, those prophets…they all died. And when they died, they stayed dead. By doubting the resurrection, Thomas wasn’t saying that he no longer believed Jesus had been sent from God, that He was of God, that He was blameless before God. What he was saying was that he expected Jesus to follow the rules of every other righteous, godly man before Him–to die and stay in the grave. To leave them only with a legacy.

Perfectly reasonable.

But then comes the part of the story where Jesus appears again, while Thomas is there.

I love this story. I love it because Jesus knew. He knew exactly what Thomas had said, and while I think we often read His words as a rebuke, there’s something so tender about this. He appears before this friend of His, and I imagine Him looking Thomas straight in the (wide) eyes. He appears, so He’s already met Thomas’s first condition–he can see Him. And then He invites. He holds out His arms, His hands, and says, “Touch me, Thomas. Touch the nail prints. Touch where the spear sliced me.” He’s saying, Do what you have to do to believe this is real, that it’s me. That I am indeed that same physical self that you saw crucified the other day.

What love! When I think about this, I’m reminded of when my kids were little. There was one night when Xoe, who was probably five or six at the time, woke up in a fright. She went all through the house, turning on every light she could find. She didn’t cry or call out, she just went searching. She looked for me in the living room. She looked for me in the kitchen. She looked for me in the basement, where we watched TV. In her muddle, it didn’t occur to her that it was the middle of the night and I’d be in bed–she just went looking where she usually found me. And the more she didn’t find me, the more panicked she became.

Eventually, she made her way upstairs to our bedroom. Now, this is the part of the story that makes me both laugh and which I hate. David woke up first, saw a silhouette of someone standing by our bed, and screamed. Which made Xoe scream and take off running. I quickly got up and went after her. She was crying in her bedroom, and the story spilled out, that she’d been looking for me and couldn’t find me.

Now, at this point, she knew where I was. She could see me. But that wasn’t enough for a panicked, frightened little girl. Of course it wasn’t. She needed more than sight. She needed to feel that her mama was there. So I sat in the rocking chair, and I pulled her into my lap, and I held her close. And I’m sure you can guess what I said.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here.” My arms around her told her this truth more than my words, more than seeing me had done.

Thomas wasn’t a child–but I think we’re all that child, aren’t we? When the One we love best is nowhere to be found–and we’ve all gone through those trials where we can’t sense God clearly–we go looking. Or maybe we hear other peoples’ stories, and that empty place inside says, “It’s not enough to just take your word for it. I need to experience Him myself.”

And that’s exactly where Jesus met him. I love that He didn’t just say, “See? Here I am.” He invited the touch. The same man who had told Mary Magdalene not to embrace Him because He hadn’t yet gone to the Father gave Thomas permission to touch Him.

Then comes another part I love. Just the invitation was enough. Thomas, so far as we see in the passage, didn’t actually reach out to touch the wounds. Instead, I imagine him dropping to his knees, fully recognizing something no one else had given voice to yet in Scripture. He did not just say, “Jesus, Son of God!” No. What did he say?

“My lord and my God!”

Sit with that a minute. Thomas, the one we know as the Doubter, was the FIRST PERSON to identify this crucial part of Jesus. Not just that He was the SON of God, but that HE IS GOD.

From Thomas’s doubt came the greatest proclamation, the greatest insight, the greatest faith. He took a leap no one, not even Peter, had taken before him.

Jesus’s response is that rebuke we know so well: “Do you believe because you’ve seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen, but still believe.”

But…is that really just a rebuke? In part, yes, but fully? I’m reminded of that line from Romans 10:

How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? 15 And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!”

Yes, blessed are those who believe without seeing…but we can only believe through our senses. In Paul’s words, we still have to HEAR about this miracle. And how do we hear about Him? Because people tell us. They tell us the story.

And this is EXACTLY what Thomas went on to do. He took that good news out into the world so that others could believe without seeing.

So if you’re in a season where you can’t feel Him…can’t hear Him…can’t feel His touch… If ever you’ve doubted, wondered, struggled… If maybe you cling to that knowledge but it feels hollow…

It’s okay. You’re not alone. But know that, just like Thomas, your story doesn’t stop there, and neither does God’s love for you. He will show up, in that locked room. You’ll see Him. But He won’t leave it at that–He’ll invite you into His arms with all the love of the Father. He’ll hold you close, as His beloved child.

I love that doubt is not the end of Thomas’s story. It’s just the beginning. And it’s the very thing that opened his eyes to that most mind-boggling, amazing truth. The thing that let him declare what I pray we all proclaim as we look upon Him someday:

“My lord and my God.”

Word of the Week – Pinpoint

Word of the Week – Pinpoint

by | Jul 13, 2026 | Word of the Week

The word pinpoint was trending recently on EtymOnline.com, so naturally, I had to click in and see what was so interesting. And what I learned was that the way we use it most often–“to locate precisely”–is actually an aeronautic term dating from 1917.

Before that, pinpoint was a noun only, dating from around 1849, and it meant (gasp) “the head of a pin.” I know, I know. You never would have expected that! 😉 But as the field of aeronautics developed, they borrowed the word to mean “place identified from the air,” presumably because they could put a pin in a map, and it was used to ascertain where the aircraft was positioned. Hence, that verb we know so well today, which was aviator slang back a century ago. Phrases like pinpoint accuracy are from WW2 and was still aviator slang, used for precision bombing.

It’s Release Day! The Spy Keeper of Marseille

It’s Release Day! The Spy Keeper of Marseille

by | Jul 7, 2026 | Announcements, Book News, Books, Fantasy

Welcome to the Launch Day Celebration
for The Spy Keeper of Marseille!

Squeeee! It’s release day for this beautiful book, my second World War 2 historical romance!

This story is super special…because it’s based on a true story. I took some liberties, of course, fictionalizing the love story and compressing some things for the sake of a coherent novel–and mashing a bunch of historical figures into just a few characters. You’re welcome. 😉

But this is the story of an unsung heroine who changed the tide of the war. The female head of France’s largest intelligence network, Alliance. I mean, did you even know that a WOMAN was in charge of France’s biggest intelligence group? I didn’t, until I began the research for The Collector of Burned Books, and as soon as I learned about the historic Marie-Madeleine Fourcade, I knew I wanted to tell a version of her story.

My heroine is Zelie Bellarose, a widow, mother of two small children, and not convinced that she’s the “man for the job” when the founder of Alliance hands her the reins and then is arrested. But she steps up, because she wants her kids to grow up in a free France. She uses the gifts God has given her–a sharp mind, a commanding personality, and a beautiful face–to do the job. And when people continually underestimate her? Well, she uses that too.

Then there’s my heart-throb hero, Marcel Laurent. A concert pianist, a POW who returns to Paris in a prisoner exchange…and soon realized his release was arranged so that he could join Alliance as their laision to the arts sector. Because you see, Alliance wasn’t filled with trained spies. They were filled with ordinary people going about their daily lives…but with eyes and ears open. Ordinary people who passed along everything they saw or heard that had to do with the German military. And those in the arts were brushing elbows with them constantly. Marcel is also tagged to conduct a Youth Orchestra, which will allow him to travel freely all over the country…and use their weekly radio transmissions to send coded messages to the Allies.

Music has always spoken to Zelie’s soul…but she’s determined that Marcel won’t. Even if he seems to see in her what no one else does.

Marcel knows that loving Zelie is like chasing a shooting star–he could never catch her, and if he did, he’d be burned. But he can’t stop chasing, can’t stop hoping, can’t stop loving her for the flash of light she is in the darkness.

The music of The Spy Keeper of Marseille

With a professional musicial as a hero, OF COURSE we have lots of music mentioned in the book. In fact, music becomes a bit of a love letter from Marcel to Zelie, part of the language they speak with each other. And you can listen along! The Spy Keeper of Marseille’s playlist is available on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music. Click the links below to go straight to the platform of your choice.

YouTube
Spotify
Apple Music

What Early Readers Are Saying

September, Goodsreads Reviewer

This book is a great mix of romance and twists and turns you will not expect. It kept me on my seat until the very end!

Kaetrianne R.

The Spy Keeper of Marseille was, once again, a five-star read by Roseanne M. White. Her novels always blow me out of the water as she manages to mix heartfelt faith, interesting characters, spellbinding plots and sweet romance like only her novels can.

Ashli R.

With suspense, rich historical detail, and characters who stay with you long after the final page, this is an outstanding and deeply moving read for fans of Resistance stories and powerful women in history.

Alyssa M.

There is so much redemption and forgiveness and faith woven into these pages. It’s hard to put down with characters that become like friends. It will also change how you think about certain things in the best ways. Add The Spy Keeper of Marseille to your TBR immediately. It’s truly exceptional WWII fiction.

Exciting and romantic! With a strong baseline of little-known history, a sweet melody for Marcel and Zelie’s building love, the rich harmony of Zelie’s personal growth, and jarring notes of danger and betrayal, The Sky Keeper of Marseille thrills. Roseanna M. White has written another stellar World War II novel.

Sarah Sundin

Bestselling, Christy Award-winning author of Mists over the Channel Islands

Rich with tension and tenderness, The Spy Keeper of Marseille captures the quiet ferocity of a woman and mother who lives out the dangerous beauty of doing what’s right–even when it could cost her everythin. Roseanna M. White delivers a story as brave as its heroine, proving that love and courage can change the course of history.

Jaynre Tromp

Bestselling author of Darkness Calls the Tiger

The Spy Keeper of Marseille

In occupied France, a woman becomes a spy for the Resistance and rises to lead the largest intelligence operation in the country in this propulsive new World War II historical novel by bestselling author Roseanna M. White.

Marseille, France, 1941. Zelie Bellerose never fit the mold of an army officer’s wife. She was too passionate in her convictions, too indifferent to societal expectations. After her husband is killed in the war, Zelie focuses on securing a brighter future for her children, hoping to help free her country from the Nazi regime by joining the Resistance. She is soon one of the most trusted operatives in Alliance, and when their leader is imprisoned, she takes command, hiding her identity from all but a few. With enemies closing in, Zelie must earn the trust of her network and prove herself to those who doubt a woman’s place at the helm of France’s largest spy ring.

Marcel Laurent was a renowned concert pianist before joining the French army and being sent to a POW camp. Freed in a prisoner exchange by a wealthy businessman with ties to the Resistance, Marcel agrees to spy for Alliance by conducting a youth orchestra, gathering intelligence from patrons who are loose-lipped Nazi sympathizers. Marcel’s weekly radio broadcasts introducing the orchestra’s performances give him the perfect cover to send coded messages over the airwaves.

As Zelie and Marcel grow closer through their shared love of music, she begins to rely on him. But betrayal from within Alliance puts everything they’ve fought for at risk. When a double agent infiltrates their ranks and the two are captured, their bond faces its greatest test . . . and any misstep could jeopardize not only Alliance but the very outcome of the war.

 

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