My Friend . . . Trish Perry

My Friend . . . Trish Perry

There are a lot of books that give me a chuckle. Sometimes a good chuckle. It’s a rare piece of fiction that makes me literally laugh out loud enough to get my husband’s attention. But when I first got Trish Perry‘s The Guy I’m Not Dating in the mail, I was laughing so much with the first four pages that my husband demanded, “What is so funny?”

I totally fell in love with Trish’s first book, and when I emailed her with my review, I quickly saw that the fabulous book’s author was just as fabulous as her book. We emailed a few times, she participated in a few promotional games that I ran, and she was one of the first authors I worked closely with through the Christian Review of Books. The result? An author I get a real kick out of calling my friend.

Trish has a sense of humor that will keep you in stitches, and it’s combined with a giving spirit and a healthy dose of sweetness. We’ve emailed quite a bit over the years, and I always get a big smile on my face when I get a message from her.

When her second book came out, Too Good to Be True, I was ecstatic because (a) I couldn’t wait to read it and (b) my review of her first book was on the “praise page.” I had been so looking forward to the arrival of this book (just ask the publicist at Harvest House, who got a couple emails from me checking on its progress) that when it arrived, my indulgent hubby burst into the bathroom to show it to me while I was in the shower. I let out a squeal that came dangerously close to waking up the sleeping baby.

I checked in with Trish after reading it and asked about her future projects. I was thrilled for her when she told me that the publisher asked her to write books for their popular Beach House series. Her second two books took place at this quirky and fun location, the first with characters from the chick lit Guy and True, the second with a whole new cast. I loved how she transitioned from one genre to the other, preserving her voice while offering the reader something new.

I can’t wait to see what Trish Perry has in store for us next. After meeting her at the ’07 ACFW conference and e-laughing with her for years now, I know she’s an author with a lot of great stories to keep me roaring in the future.

As usual, click on the book pics for my reviews. (I received all of these as complementary review copies from the publisher.)

Thoughtful About . . . Things Autumnal

Ever since I can remember, I loved fall. I love the colors on the trees, I love the bite in the air, I love the smell. I love that last hoorah of harvest before the doldrums of winter sets in. Here in the mountains of Maryland, we don’t get a ton of snow, so winter is pretty bleak and dreary. Autumn though . . . we do autumn up right.

When I was a little girl, my love for this season was pure and untainted. As was my love for winter with its surprise snow days, summer with its lazy hours by the pool and world of adventure in my imagination, and my absolute favorite spring, with all that new life poking through and washing the world in bright new green. Then I grew up. Things–and opinions–began to change.

My mother-in-law is an outdoors person, one with Mediterranean blood. She hates winter. I’m talking with-a-passion. My husband does too, though not as bad as his mom. So for them, fall is just a precursor. In every brisk breeze, they see the endless winter looming. In every falling leaf, they see the end of their favorite summer. I once observed how I loved the smell of a forest in the fall, and my scientifically minded honey replied, “You know that’s just rot, right?”

Thanks, dear. Really.

I confess I’m not such a big fan of winter now that there’s no such thing as a day off because of snow. So I now tend to say things like, “I really love fall . . . if only it didn’t end in winter.”

But part of me wishes I could forget the negativity. I could . . . but someone would point it out. And that’s fine, because that’s their opinion. Inside me, though, is that little girl who loves every season the Lord paints on my world. I love watching time roll over the mountains. I love the colors on the trees, even if it does mean they’re dying. I love the smell of that autumnal forest, even if it is rot. I love that cool air, even if it does mean nasty winter gusts are on their way.

It’s just another example of who I am, I guess. I’ll acknowledge your downsides. No point in denying them when they’re true. Just don’t expect me to dwell on it. So long as autumn is blazing across the trees, I’m going to enjoying every breeze.

Remember When . . . There Was No Shampoo?

I find this subject intriguing and terrifying: hair care. I was one of those teenagers who had to wash her hair everyday, and by evening it was yucky again. Not anymore, thankfully, but still. The horror! And given that at the time I read more historicals than anything, I was always interested in what in the world people did with their hair before the marvelous invention of shampoo.

There’s apparently some disagreement about this. When I was researching an idea for a Revolutionary War story, I came across a reenactor website that had a seriously in depth section about the hair. There was, of course, the debate about powdering real hair versus a wig, etc., but what I found most interesting was the talk about washing hair in general.

As everyone probably knows, using soap on hair just doesn’t work. It strips it down, removes essential oils. Wash your hair with traditional skin soap and you end up with dry, breaking, nasty hair. So one of the theories is that people would do this, then oil their hair. There are some recipes for hair oil out there to support this.

But this particular reenactor had read something that said people simply washed their hair in water, so her group conducted an experiment. (These people are dedicated!) A handful of people began washing their hair with only water and kept doing it for six months or something. They found that after a week or two, their hair adjusted. It wasn’t oily. It wasn’t dry. It was actually perfectly balanced, glossy, and soft. You know, like we strive to achieve with expensive shampoos, lol. The fact that natural works so well leads me to believe that for most of history, this is probably exactly what people did.

The claim really, really intrigues me . . . though not enough to try it for myself. I’m not that dedicated to history. 😉 But I thought some of you might find that little tidbit interesting too, so I thought I’d pass it along. Now your hair can be one less thing to worry about if you’re ever stranded in the wilderness with water but no shampoo for an extended period of time. =)

Study Time . . . I Corinthians

Mixing things up today because I haven’t read any books this week other than my own, and I’m not narcissistic enough to talk about my own story on Tuesdays, when I’m supposed to talk about other people’s. =) So . . . today we’re going to take a look at some verses that my hubby had us read in church this weekend.

I Corinthians 3:12-15
Now if anyone builds on this foundation [of Christ] with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw, each one’s work will become clear; for the Day will declare it, because it will be revealed by fire; and the fire will test each one’s work, of what sort it is.

If anyone’s work which he had built on it endures, he will receive a reward. If anyone’s work is burned, he will suffer loss; he he himself will be saved, yet so as through fire.

Our church is preparing for a prayer vigil to ask for direction for the church as a whole, as well as bring our individual petitions before the Lord. This struck us as an amazing section for the church . . . and I keep thinking about it for me too.

All of us are building upon our faith with every action. Most of the time, our intentions are good. But if we’re following our plan instead of the Lord’s, chances are we’re layering on our faith with straw, wood, or hay. When the fires come, all that hard work is going to vanish. On the other hand, if we do God’s will for us, build according to His instruction, then the fire will temper us, harden us, remove our impurities and make us better.

I also love that final verse–if we’ve built according to our own desires instead of God’s, if our works don’t properly show our faith or are just misguided, it doesn’t mean God casts us out. It doesn’t mean we lose our salvation. Because that is Christ, and Christ can’t be destroyed by our piddly efforts. We’re still saved . . . we just probably feel pretty frustrated that we wasted all that effort.

It really hammers home for me the importance of seeking God’s will before I do anything–and then LISTENING. That’s the hard part, eh? Stopping to actually get that guidance we request.

When it comes to my writing, God directs me with clicks. When an idea doesn’t click for me, I give up on it or push it aside for a while. When I’m praying about what story to write, or how to write it, I know I’ve found God’s will for it when inspiration that can only be divine starts pouring into my mind. But it’s also really comforting to know that if I keep pushing through the wrong work, God might shake His head (metaphorically speaking of course) and might send a little fire to show me the truth, but He still loves me. He still holds me in His hand.

Sometimes though, He has to clear away the rabble to reveal that strong foundation. How else are we to build the building that He ordains?

Modern . . . Beauty

Beauty’s a transitory, subjective thing. It’s true. We all know it. I remember once being totally surprised when I finally saw a guy a friend had referred to as “one of the best looking men” she’d ever seen. I met him and thought, “Huh? Seriously? I don’t think he’s even cute.” And yet, there are definite opinions on whether characters ought to be beautiful.

I’ve heard both sides. That people want to a book to be an escapist fantasy, they want the characters to be what they dream of being. The other side has said, “I get so sick of reading about these perfect, gorgeous, nubile heroines meeting these perfect, muscular, alpha-male guys.”

Can I agree with both? LOL. I have my share of awe-inspiringly-beautiful heroines. It inevitably causes them problems. I also have my share of not-traditionally-beautiful heroines who are nonetheless thought to be gorgeous by the heroes. I’ve gone for the “too”s on occasion–too tall, too heavy, too bold, too plain, too understated (too loud, too talkative, too quiet–to get into some other traits that can affect beauty in a heartbeat).

I’ve heard (or maybe thought) it’s kind of a cop-out to have this “normal” looking woman and then have the hero end up thinking she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. But . . . well, I’m a normal looking woman. And my husband has been telling me for going on twelve years now (ever since we started dating) that I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. Do I think he’s full of it? Well, sure. But “it” is love, so I also believe him.

The debate of beauty is a topic that has raged in authors’ circles for years and undoubtedly will keep doing so. But for me, it always comes down to this: take a walk down a busy street. Look at the people you pass. Sure, most of them have some physical flaws. And most of them work pretty hard to look their best in spite of them. I remember a particular day in Annapolis, walking around during lunch and thinking, “Wow. Everyone’s so beautiful.” Beautiful people are everywhere, taking all shapes, all colors, all sizes. So how can we not call a character beautiful when most of the women out there are?

Generally, my heroines will be called beautiful, though not generally the perfect variety. But then, I also have one in particular who the hero describes as “better than beautiful: her features are interesting.”

And now to grab my son from his highchair before he climbs out and becomes cute-in-a-chipped-tooth sort of way.

My Friend . . . Sara Mills

Back at the ’07 conference, I met an author named Sara Mills. I vaguely recall hearing her tell us about her books, though I confess I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention. To the point where, when her debut novel arrived in my mailbox from her publisher, I didn’t realize I’d met the author. But the book looked cool, very film noir, so I settled down with Miss Fortune and proceeded to be wowed.

I wrote a review, sent it to the publisher, and emailed Sara with it too. I actually had the thought of Did I volunteer to read this? Is she in ACFW? Completely spaced I’d MET the woman. But at any rate, Sara emailed me back, very excited. Mine was the first review to come in, and it helped hammer home the reality of being published.

I asked to be put on the list to receive her second book, Miss Match. I was in the middle of something else when it arrived, but at the first possible moment, I picked it up, carried it upstairs, and got to reading. I was only a chapter or two in when it hit me. I had MET Sara! Suddenly I remembered her, remembered sitting with her and her agent at the award’s banquet in 2007!

When things like this hit me out of the blue, I’ve taken to turning my thoughts to the Lord. I learned this lesson many times over, and not too long before in relation to authors (I’d been thinking about my favorite childhood author one week and then learned she had died that week). So I prayed for Sara and her family. Then kept reading.

The next morning I learned that at the exact time the Lord had impressed her on my heart, she was suffering a debilitating death in the family. When I saw that email asking for prayers as her family reeled with the loss, I sat back and just stared. I barely knew this woman. I didn’t even recall meeting her until the moment I started praying. Why had the Lord called on me for this?

I don’t pretend to understand the way our amazing God works, but you can bet that whenever someone pops to mind with that startling clarity now, I’m putting aside all else and saying a prayer.

Not knowing what else to do, I finished Miss Match–which was a great book with an awe-inspiring ending–wrote my review, and told everyone I knew to buy her books. My grandmother petitioned the Library to order them. My best friend ordered them for her mom. I don’t know that my efforts did much in the overall attempt to help her family, but I had to do what I could.

At the conference last month, I was walking blissfully away from lunch one day when I heard, “Roseanna!” I turned, having no clue who was hailing me. And saw a smiling Sara Mills sitting on the bench, waving. “You wrote my very first review,” she said–looking, I might add, gorgeous and sophisticated. “I wanted to thank you.”

I may not have remembered our first chance meeting. But you can bet I’ll never forget that one.

To read my reviews of the fabulous film noir-inspired mysteries by Sara Mills, click on the book covers–they’ll take you to the links at the CRoB.