The Path

Choosing the right path is a difficult decision. I grew up in a time when women had fewer choices. The women of my generation often became either stay-at-home moms, nurses, secretaries, or teachers. I wanted to be a writer from a young age, but I did not want to be an English teacher. Picking apart poems and classic literature in high school cured me of that idea. I liked to read books. I didn't want to dissect them. However, I enjoyed teaching young children to read. I set off on my journey. For me, it worked.

Then I married and give birth to three lovely daughters. I decided to become a stay-at-home mom, at least for a while. It meant the loss of one paycheck, but my husband and I managed. We bought used cars. We did not have cable television. Our daughters did not have game consoles or the latest fashions--but they did a lot of reading and they learned to play the piano. Hubby and I took them on trips to historical places: Williamsburg, Plimouth Plantation, Mystic Seaport, and such. We camped to save money.

I put my trust in the Lord. In my heart, I felt I was doing what was best for our daughters and I have never regretted my decision.

It was during that stay-at-home time that the overwhelming urge to write took over my mind. I had a plot and I needed to put it on paper and I did. I sent it to various publishers and it was rejected over twenty-five times. However, I wrote other books in the meantime and eventually I found small publishers willing to take a chance on my books. I also won a few book awards, which was a big plus.

Our daughters grew and I went back to work teaching young children, but I continued writing. The steady teaching paycheck was a true blessing as time went on. But then my elderly father needed care and I retired from teaching. I never regretted that decision either.

Through the years the journey of life has presented me with several different paths. I changed the route several times but with prayer I had hope I was headed in the right direction and I continue to rely on the Lord to lead me. His grace and mercy keep me on track.

Meandering on Route 71

The other day, hubby thought it would be nice to visit the antique store in Point Pleasant, one of his favorite haunts. It was a lovely spring day and though the pollen count was way up, we headed down the Parkway and were soon wandering around aisles full of bric-a-brac and memorabilia from days gone by.

We didn't buy anything, which is good, but the variety of stuff was amazing. I saw a veritable bucket of knitting needles. Has everyone given up knitting? Just seeing those lonely knitting needles saddened me.

After we left the store, we intended to go home but it was still rather early in the day. Since I was driving, I decided to take a detour and once we passed into Brielle I veered off onto Route 71. The old road passes through all the lovely main streets of all the little seaside towns.

We meandered north along all sixteen miles of Route 71, through Manasquan, Sea Girt, Wall Township, Spring Lake, Belmar, and onward past Vic's in Bradley Beach and the Beach Plum Ice Cream Parlor. Past the grand estates in Deal. Past Monmouth University's stately campus.

Along Route 71, each town passes by quickly. Many of the houses along the main streets are old and it was fun to think about what it must have been like along the shore in the old days with horse drawn carriages.

We had a wonderful time. It was far better than zipping home along the Parkway. Of course, that day we had time--time to appreciate spring--the blossoming trees (despite the pollen) and bushes. It was calming not to rush. It's easier to see details when you're going at a grand speed of twenty-miles miles an hour.

I like detours. I consider them small adventures--and since I've lived in New Jersey all my life, I've never been afraid of getting lost. (Hint: there will always be a Parkway sign or a Turnpike sign somewhere along the way.) As a writer, detours often lead me into new plots.

Where will my next story take place? Hmmm. Maybe somewhere along Route 71.

Guest Post by CHRISTINE LINDSAY!

Today I am honored to have Christine Lindsay on my blog. She has a fantastic historical, SOFI'S BRIDGE now on sale for a limited time. Don't miss out on this offer. (I just bought it!) 

Irish-born Christine Lindsay is the author of multi-award- winning Christian fiction and non-fiction. Readers describe her writing as gritty yet tender, realistic yet larger than life, with historical detail that collides into the heart of psychological and relationship drama. Christine’s books have garnered the ACFW Genesis Award, The Grace Award, Canada’s The Word Guild Award (Twice), the READERS’ CHOICE AWARD, and was a finalist twice for Readers’ Favorite and the Selah Award.

SOFI'S BRIDGE was RWA Readers Choice Award 2017 for Historical Romance. This terrific book is on a rare discount of only 99 cents May 10, 11, and 12. 

Grab your copy here:

https://www.bookbub.com/books/sofi-s-bridge-by-christine-lindsay

Watch the book trailer at:  https://youtu.be/Y_istdNP8_Q

Read Chapter One of Sofi’s Bridge HERE

Read the book blurb and short excerpt below and enjoy!

Seattle Debutant Sofi Andersson will do everything in her power to protect her sister who is suffering from shock over their father’s death. Charles, the family busy-body, threatens to lock Trina in a sanatorium—a whitewashed term for an insane asylum—so Sofi will rescue her little sister, even if it means running away to the Cascade Mountains with only the new gardener Neil Macpherson to protect them. But in a cabin high in the Cascades, Sofi begins to recognize that the handsome immigrant from Ireland harbors secrets of his own. Can she trust this man whose gentle manner brings such peace to her traumatized sister and such tumult to her own emotions? And can Neil, the gardener, continue to hide from Sofi that he is really Dr. Neil Galloway, a man wanted for murder by the British police? Only an act of faith and love will bridge the distance that separates lies from truth and safety.

Excerpt:  

“Sometimes I think it would be easier,” Sofi said, “if I didn’t feel the urge to use these natural abilities—I think God-given abilities—but to do the more expected tasks of a woman in my social position. Strangely, my father considered it more socially acceptable for my sister to enter yacht races than for me to consider a career.”

Sofi raised her gaze. “But what about you, Neil? With all this talk about life’s purposes and the toil of one’s brow, what are you doing with your life?” The sun nestled between two peaks as she tensed her weight against the sun-warmed granite. 

Her natural perfume intoxicated him—not the overpowering colognes of society, but the scent of soap, apples she been paring earlier—stirring the desire to touch her cheek, her hands, her arms. What if he closed the gap between them? How would the softness of her cheek feel against the roughness of his? What would her lips taste like? 

His breath quickened.

Sofi’s eyes widened. 

He couldn’t tear his gaze from her softly parting mouth. A muscle tapped at the base of her throat. 

Had one of them moved closer?

He pulled in a breath. When a man and a woman cared for each other, they should speak the truth. He wanted to tell her about the thrift clinic he’d partnered in for the poor back home. Tell her of the work he’d done in the hospital. If he shared his pride in those accomplishments, he knew her eyes would shine in understanding.

Aye, right, ye fool. Then tell her you left the clinic and your position in Belfast City Hospital, as well as all your patients, to run to Washington State to be a gardener.How could he possibly tell her about the night that stole his life from him, and all with one slash of a knife? He rubbed the pressure between his brows. “Time we were getting back to the cabin.”

“Right. Of course.” In a fluster, she smoothed her shirtwaist. Her eyes that moments ago were shining turned a dull slate. She set her profile to him. “Foolish for the two of us to stand here any longer.”

Find it at AMAZON!

Talent or Persistence?

One of my paintings received a blue ribbon in the Ruth Crown Show of the Art Society of Monmouth County. Many have admired my paintings and praised my talent, which is nice but talent is nothing without practice, patience, and persistence.

My ability to paint a picture isn’t magic. I didn’t pick up a paintbrush one day and instantly create a masterpiece. In fact, so far I haven’t created any masterpieces—only some nice decorations I like to look at on the wall.

I give credit to God who undoubtedly graced me with a love of figuring out puzzles—and not the standard jigsaw puzzle. Nope. My puzzles are more difficult than simply the kind that contain one thousand pieces. Yet, the challenge forever intrigues me and I enjoy it.

Another source of my skill comes from my upbringing. My earliest memories are those in which my mother valiantly picked up a pencil or a brush and focused intently on an idea she felt needed to be brought to the attention of others. She practiced her craft constantly. She had a sketch pad with her at all times. The easel remained standing. It was never put away. Sometimes she was happy with her finished product--and sometimes she wasn't. If she wasn't satisfied, she would repeat the process.

From her example, I learned not to be afraid of failure and not to quit.

In addition, I have also been fortunate to study in Grace Graupe-Pillard's painting workshop, which has kept me on track over the years.

I am glad my painting was appreciated by the judge of the contest. I'm happy with my blue ribbon, and with the cash prize as well. But I often sigh when my talent is praised. Talent isn't magic. To create art takes lot of time. It also takes a ton of persistence.

I found an interesting article on talent in which Scott Barry Kaufman says, “Unfortunately, many people have an overly simplistic understanding of talent. They view talent as innate, ready to spring forth given the right conditions. But this is not how talent operates...Talents aren't prepackaged at birth, but take time to develop.” You can read the entire article at:

https://www.theguardian.com/science/2013/jul/07/can-science-spot-talent-kaufman

I believe anyone can paint a lovely picture if they are willing to spend a lifetime at it.