Christy Gala and Rendezvous Recap

Christy Gala and Rendezvous Recap

Whew, I am tired after a loooooong, whirlwind weeknd. But it’s the good kind of tired. The joyful kind of tired. The grin-worthy kind of tired.

Last Thursday, I loaded into the car at 6 a.m. with my husband David, and we drove into town to pick up Denise, a friend from my local book club who had invited me to join her for the Read Write Rendezvous when her daughter had to back out and she ended up with an extra ticket. Denise had issued the invitation right before Cindy of the Christy Awards invited me to join a panel at the Art of Writing seminar right before the award gala, which is in conjunction with the Rendezvous, so…it all came together. At first, it was just the two of us going, but after I was named a finalist in the Christy Awards, Denise said, “You should invite your family!”

So I did. My parents ended up coming too, and then David joined the party as well.

We had a lovely time chatting and getting to know each other better for the first bit of the drive, then I turned on the audio book I was determined to introduce both Denise and David to: The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion by Beth Brower. I read them in ebook form last year but wanted to do a reread before book 9 releases in February, and I knew the audio books were amazing. We got through the first one and started the second on our 9.5 hour drive, and they both enjoyed them. 

We arrived in Nashville in the late afternoon, got all checked in, had dinner, and rested in preparation for all the Friday stuff. Though first, a small mixup. Another finalist, Tasha Hackett, was rooming with Denise…but they’d never actually said which hotel. Tasha had assumed the Christy hotel, so showed up there…only to discover Denise (and hence her room) was at the Rendezvous hotel. So Denise and I hopped back in the car and made the super-short (but not walkable) drive to pick up Tasha, and I henceforth got to introduce myself as “Tasha’s Chauffeur.” 😉

This was my first time attending any of the Christy Award stuff live, and it was such fun! David and I met my agent, Steve Laube, for breakfast to chat about the realities of being a small press in today’s market. As always, chatting with Steve meant soaking up tons of information and wisdom and stories. After breakfast, David headed back to our hotel (we were staying at the Rendezvous hotel and drove to the Christy hotel) while I headed in for the “meet the finalists” panel.

That was the point of the day when I got to hug my amazing virtual assistant, Rachel, without whom I could not function, LOL. We’ve only met in person once before, and that was forever ago, so it was SO AWESOME to get to hang out with her all weekend!! And of course, these events were just BURSTING with friends–some I’ve known for many years, some I’ve only met recently. Some are authors I’ve been looking up to for eons and totally fangirl over, others I’ve had the opportunity to encourage and mentor a bit. There was much hugging and exclaiming and laughing.

Four members of my Tyndale team were there too, so I got to meet and/or say “hello again!” to them as well.

After lunch, the Art of Writing seminar began. The first panel was made of publishing pros–editors, marketing folks, publishers, etc. They talked a lot about the state of the industry, and I soaked it all up with gratitude. The second panel was about AI and the publishing industry. I will admit I wasn’t sure what tack they were going to take, but I found it to be SUCH a well-reasoned and insightful group! I highly enjoyed hearing these professionals talk about the many uses for AI, the lines we should draw, and the encouragement put into words as to what we do NOT need to fear when it comes to AI, because machines will never have the Breath of God in them. Absolutely loved their take.

During the break after that panel, I had a chance to talk to Amanda Wright, author of Darkfell and the newly-released Firewing. Amanda is SUCH a sweetheart! We’ve chatted online a good bit since her debut released last year, and I’d been looking forward to getting to chat with her in person. Doing so was definitely one of the highlights of my weekend–those personal connections are just what it’s all about!

I was on panel 3, “Soul of the Writer, Heart of the Story.” Also known as the time when I got to make people cry. 😉 One of the questions was about what we do to process when we need to step away from the story, or conversely, a time when we’ve used a story to process. Ahem. Cue Roseanna breaking out the story of how God gave just the right story to write when I was diagnosed with Stage 4 with that brain tumor, and how just a week before, I’d decided on using a dying woman’s POV in Amazed. How her first scene was the next scene to write after I got home for the oncology appointment where they were talking about palliative care. (Then also got to make them all laugh with, “Spoiler alert–I didn’t die.”)

I slipped out after my panel (though there was one more) so Rachel and I could return to the other hotel to get ready for the gala. Cue the sparkly purple gown and blingy jewelry. (And insert David saying, “I have one question: Why are you not wearing a tiara?” LOL. I totally should have brought one!) And as someone who LOVES fancy dresses, the gala was a feast for the eyes!

Also, it was just so much fun. Everyone was in high spirits, laughing and hugging and complimenting and celebrating together. And that is just what this Christian Fiction industry is all about. We cheer for each other. We encourage each other. We rejoice with each other. And it puts a song in my heart.

Laura Frantz won my category, and I cheered extra-loud for her because Laura is the sweetest person in the world. She was unfortunately not there this year (sad!), but I hope she was watching and heard how excited everyone was for her very well-deserved win!

Saturday morning, the Rendezvous started bright and early–David helped me carry in my boxes of books for the bookshop then vanished again. =) I was there on a reader ticket rather than a writer ticket so was just a “special guest.” No panels or anything for me, and that was totally fine, LOL. I got to float around, meet tons of readers, buy books and then hunt down the authors for signatures, and just bask in the reader community.

And then be SHOCKED when Amazed was my first title to sell out! (At ACFW and Storyfest, I think I sold 2 fantasies. There, it was all about the historicals. Here, whole different story.) I actually ended up selling out of most everything. I arrived with 55 books; I left with 3 copies of Spy Keeper. A successful day, for sure!

I did have to duck out to teach my ACFW VA class via Zoom at 11 Central/12 Eastern. The class went really well–I was teaching about the cover design process. When I hopped back down, lunch was in full swing, so I grabbed a plate. And then found Tamera Alexander, who was the keynote speaker, stopping me to say hello.

Now, Tammy is another totally amazing person. Back when I was first pitching in 2007, I had her first series on my list of comparable titles, and she was also one of the first authors gracious enough to endorse my early books. So to say I look up to and love her books and her is an understatement. So obviously it made my day to hang out for a few minutes and chat with her, especially when she said, “Everyone I talk to here says something about you and how glad they are you made it.” We chatted for a while about my health journey and all I’ve been going through, and then she really made my day when she said, “I just feel like I need to know you better. Let’s stay in touch.”

I had to pop upstairs to my room once more for the editor panel at the conference, then David and I, Danielle Grandinetti (good friend, member of P&P, just saw her last week at our retreat, LOL) and the aforementioned Rachel, (VA extraordinaire) walked to Fox’s Pizza and had dinner. Much laughter was had by all.

I got to participate in the games that evening, doing a “speed dating” thing where the authors moved between groups of 4 readers and speed-answered questions. Such fun!! Then, alas, exhaustion caught up and I went upstairs, packed up, and went to bed. Because we were leaving at 6 on Sunday.

The drive home was delightful, given that we finished listening to Emma M. Lion Volume 2 and then also got through Volume 3–as in, we finished just as we took our exit from the interstate into our hometown. Listening to these together is such fun! So many moments where we were laughing together. And now my husband will understand the inside jokes when I say, “Ah.” Or “What? What, what?” We haven’t yet gotten to Alchemy (I think that’s Volume 4…right?) but now he’s hooked, so we’ll get there soon. 😉

All in all, it was such a wonderful weekend, and I can’t wait to do it again!

Word of the Week – Denim

Word of the Week – Denim

I learned quite a few years ago that denim is a cloth named for a location–in this case, the French town of Nîmes. What I didn’t remember so well is that denim is actually short for “serge de Nîmes”…serge being a durable twill fabric that has diagonal lines or ridges on both front and back of the fabric. But that our modern denim is not, in fact, the same fabric.

They are related–both modern denim and the original serge are part of the twill family. But the cotton or cotton-blend weave we associate with the word today doesn’t bear more than a passing resemblance to the wool-blend serge that took its name from the town in which it originated. We owe the Levi Strauss company for our modern variety. Using denim to describe that coarse, twilled cotton cloth is an Americanism from the 1850s; it was used mostly for overalls, so by 1868, denim began to be the word for “pants made of denim.”

So why was denim appropriated as the name for this cloth, when it’s quite distinct from the original cloth bearing the name? Historians aren’t honestly sure. But regardless, the word’s shift in application is rather complete.

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When Planning Feels Brave

When Planning Feels Brave

For most of this year, I felt caught in a sort of limbo…a kind where I didn’t want to plan anything. I knew surgery would be looming at some point, I have infusions every three weeks, I’m considered immunocompromised—all of that severely limits what I can do. Or rather…what I felt I could do.

But there’s a phrase I’ve heard over and over again from my team—from my oncologist, from my surgeons, from my radiation oncologists. And it is this: “You have to live your life.”

It’s never said as a rebuke, always as encouragement. When I mention that maybe I’d like to do something and ask if it’s possible, that’s what they say: “You have to live your life.”

The first time I heard it, back during Chemo Treatments 1.0, I didn’t fully appreciate what it meant, because at that point in time, treatments had an end date. Of course I would live my life, in between chemo and surgery and radiation. I’d squeeze things in, with the knowledge that soon it would all be over and life—full life—would be waiting. So while we didn’t get to take a summer vacation, we took a Christmas one. My spring retreat had to be canceled, but we did a fall one.

This year, though, the encouragement lands differently. This year, everything has felt less certain, even with clear scans. And since the summer, I have had other words spoken by my new oncologist playing through my mind, hovering back there waiting for the moment to pounce again: “It’s not a matter of if it comes back, it’s a matter of when.”

Those words have been like a specter hovering in the corner of the room. And they solidify every time talk turns to the future. Planning anything feels a little bit defiant—I will go to the Christy Award gala and the Read Write Rendezvous, even though it means rescheduling an infusion—so take that, cancer treatments! (To which, of course, my team says, “Of course! Go! You have to live your life!”)

But then, when conversation turns to plans farther out than a few weeks or months? It doesn’t just feel a little bit defiant. It feels…brave.

We’d like to retire down here. That’s what David and I were dreaming of when we were at the beach in September. We love Hatteras Island. The bookshops there feel like home. The locals feel like neighbors. And we feel so close to God there, we feel like healthier versions of ourselves. We would love to retire there someday.

But “it’s not a matter of if it comes back, it’s a matter of when.” The words bully their way forward. And in their wake comes the inevitable question: Will I live long enough to retire?

I don’t know the answer to that question. The truth is that none of us knows the answer to that question, but I’m very keenly aware of that lack of guarantee. With Stage 4 cancer, they don’t talk about 20-year survival rates. They talk about 2-year survival rates. Maybe 5-year survival rates. Even knowing I’m NOT typical Stage 4, that’s all the data they have to give me. And that’s…scary. It’s sobering.

And as someone who has always loved to plan, who had her whole life sketched out by middle school (and hey, I’ve stuck pretty close! Marriage + kids + homeschool + write novels = Roseanna’s Dream Life), it’s disconcerting, to suddenly have that check on my dreams. To have a caution light that blinks on whenever my mind turns to the future. To be constantly wondering what plans I dare to make.

Because that’s what it feels like. A dare. It feels brave. It feels courageous.

I want to say “It feels like faith.” But I’m going to draw a different line there—because I’ve come to realize that faith can’t just be faith that I’ll be miraculously healed and will live decades more. Faith means He’s with me no matter what; to live is Christ and to die is gain. I pray He’ll give me more time…but I trust that if He doesn’t, then it’s because the time He gave me is sufficient for the work He wants me to do here on earth.

So no. It doesn’t feel like faith that everything will work out the way I want it to. It is, instead, an act of courage in the face of the known-unknown.

This is something I was almost afraid to talk to my husband about, because he (understandably) doesn’t like conversations that hint at my death. But last month when I was having a bad day, we went for a walk, and I confessed this feeling to him. How planning a vacation had felt a little bold, how planning next year’s retreat feels a little defiant, but how planning for the future…that requires bravery. I admitted the questions that are always there, now, in the back of my head. We talked through the doctor’s statements that led to that hovering specter. We talked through how hard it is to feel like dreaming itself is out of reach in some ways. We talked through the frustration of not knowing whether my scans are clear because the problem is gone or because the treatments are just holding it off until The Next Time.

No one told me about this part of cancer. No one told me that part of the grief, part of the struggle would be the loss not of the dreams themselves, but of the feeling that I could dream.

And I’m not ready to give that up. I will not cower. Because while faith can’t be “I trust that everything will work out like I want it to” faith has to be, “I trust that He’ll be with me, whatever comes, and that He wants me to live life in pursuit of Him and walk out my calling as long as I’m able.”

So I will sign that contract for book releases that take me through 2030, and I will do it with courage. I will dream about that “someday” with my husband, and I will do it with bravery. I will reclaim what health I can, and I will dream my dreams, and I will live my life.

I will live it more aware than I ever expected to be of how finite it is. And I will find the gift in that—the blessing in the unexpected grief. Because it makes me appreciate each moment I have. Each moment I live out loud. Each plan I make and see through to fruition.

And that…that feels like faith. That feels like hope. That feels like joy.

It doesn’t give me certainty…and it doesn’t require it. It gives me something better. It gives me freedom. Freedom to accept whatever the Lord has in store. Freedom to stand tall in the face of that foggy future and bravely say, “I don’t know if it will actually happen—but I know I need to dream it anyway.”

It gives me freedom to dream into the unknown. And that is what I will courageously cling to as long as the Lord gives me breath.

Word of the Week – Plaid (Tartan)

Word of the Week – Plaid (Tartan)

Did you know that plaid didn’t used to mean the pattern, but rather the garment that often bore said pattern?

Yep! Plaid came to be used in English round about 1510, but it’s from the Gaelic plaide, which means “blanket, mantle.” We’re not really sure where that word came from. Scots would, of course, wear a plaid with their clan tartan on it…but it’s the tartan that meant the pattern, with plaid being the garment.

So when did it come to mean that distinctive pattern of bars crisscrossing at right angles? Not until 1890!

(Funny side note. In her middle school days, my niece was saying she wanted to wear her plaid shirt but couldn’t think of the word plaid so described it as, “You know–the stripey-stripey-crossy-crossy one.” It stuck, LOL.)

Are you a fan of plaid patterns? (They are not my favorite. I was recently bemoaning to my husband that I couldn’t find a soft, button-up, non-dress-shirt that wasn’t plaid. But I do at least have some in colors I like, LOL.)

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Discover the World of Volatile

Discover the World of Volatile

Discover the World of Volatile

A land on the brink of destruction…

A Wasteland between two kingdoms…

Between the kingdoms of Daryatla and Soltierra stretches a Wasteland. A place where, for millennia, people have barely been able to eke out an existence. A place of arid plains, toxic springs, and a slumbering danger far below the surface…

A super-volcano on the brink of eruption. And if it goes, it will trigger the world’s other major volcanoes as well.

Extinction will follow. Unless the world’s strongest Aflame can tame it.

Sigmann, formerly known as Daemon, primal of the Aflame

The primal of the Aflame…

Sigmann, son of Phoenix, spent a century and a half as Daemon, the first person ever Awakened to power of flame and lava. Branded a demon by the tyrant who condemned him to life in the heart of Fjordlandi’s largest volcano, he had embraced all they told him he was. He grew hard to keep from being shattered. And he was so accustomed to a life of darkness broken only by the light of lava that it has taken him three and a half years to embrace not only freedom, but a life lived in daylight. A journey back to who he is by rights: Sigmann, secondborn son of the seraph known as Phoenix.

He has spent the last few years in Ellas, to fulfill an agreement another made and let the Ellesian scientists study him. He’d expected it to be a new form of slavery. Instead, he found new friends, a new family…and a new threat.

Enemies in Ellas have triggered an event that could mean the destruction of everyone on the planet. The world’s volcanic systems are in revolt, and Sig calls upon his Aflame brethren to help him bring them back under control. He sends them each to the place he thinks they’ll be the best help, leaving the most enormous, threatening system for himself: Sunstone, in the Wastelands between Daryatla and Soltierra. An ancient super-volcano that has lain dorment even befor the Great Cataclysm. Sunstone, which could wipe out the continent and trigger destruction around the globe.

But even he, the most powerful Aflame, can’t save the day alone. Because it isn’t just lava threatening to erupt. Half the danger is from the super-heated water ready to blow the land to pieces, and for that, he needs the woman he resisted as long as he could. The woman he wants nothing more than a future with…if they can live long enough to claim it.

 

Nothing can bring Perla down for long…except a prophecy she’s been sidestepping her whole life.

Perla, Crown Princess of Daryatla

Ever since she was a child, Perla has demanded attention and brought laughter and joy wherever she goes. And ever since she was on the cusp of womanhood, she’d been looking for her perfect match. She knows he’s out there–her seraph grandmother told her so, when she gave her a prophecy that Perla has been both clinging to and dreading every since. A prophecy of love found…and sacrifice made. But hey, prophecies are notoriously vague, right? She’s happy to believe there will be centuries between finding her true love and that eventual need for sacrifice. 

And she knew the moment she zapped Sig’s palm in the volcano in Fjordlandi that he is the man she’s been waiting well over a century to find. And finally, after years of near-daily messages, they’re friends. Maybe leaning toward more than friends. And nothing like a little world-obliterating extinction event is going to get between her and her man.

Probably. Maybe. Hopefully… Right?

Together, Sig and Perla venture inside the enormous Sustone volcanic system, where lakes of lava and super-heated aquifers prove a challenge even for them–two of the most powerful Awakened in the world. But failure isn’t an option.

Because if they fail,
the whole world will pay the price.

Imani

On the other side of the world is a continent the Awakened kingdoms all thought dead, one they’d called the Dark Continent. Since the Cataclsym, this once-vibrant land has been devastated and impossible to reach, surrounded as it is by deadly currents and disastrous shoals.

But the Dark Continent isn’t dead. A people thrive there, and they call their land Zamara…and they think they’re the humans who survived the End of Days.

Imani has always been fascinated by history, especially the ruins around her city, Kitali, that date back to the world before that great disaster. Though only her cousin, Temba, can be convinced to help in her tasks, she’s spent the last decade excavating a site that was once a library so enormous, she can scarcely fathom its size. As she excavates, she’s been learning the languages represented in the surviving artifacts, and she’s learned that this library was called the World Heritage Repository. Most of the place is nothing but ruins, but Imani has just discovered a door on a lower level that is still intact. And a room beyond it that holds information she’s only ever dreamed of.

Books. Books that have somehow survived millennia. Books in scads of languages. Books with pictures. Books that promise more than a lifetime of discovery.

But before she has a chance to share her find, 
visitors arrive and change everything.

Terrifying, pale strangers have emerged from the volcano…

Strangers who don’t speak Zamaran. Strangers with odd, pink skin and hair like cornsilk. Strangers who can melt a crossbow bolt in midair. Strangers her neighbors are quick to call demons. But Imani, called upon by her father, one of the five leaders of their region, recognizes people when she sees them, and she sees in them a chance to do something she’s been studying for her whole life:

Communicate, building a lexicon word by word.

And the words they convey…the paint a picture she knows is true. Because the volcanoes of the Riftlands have been increasing in activity for years. Whole villages have had to be evacuated. Regions have been dying.

These strangers claim they can stop it. And Imani is desperate enough to believe them.

Mt. Senga, outside Kitali
The Riftlands, Zamara

The Awakened fan out across the world…

in an attempt to stop disaster before it can kill them all. 

But it will come down to one question they all must answer:
How much are they willing to give for others?

Volatile

is a gripping novella to read between

Amazed and Alight.