The Word Alive Press Publishing Contest – A Bright Light on the Publishing Horizon

Posted on May 8, 2012 by

Have I mentioned the publishing business is a tough one to break into? Actually, if you’ve spent two minutes in the presence of a writer or aspiring writer lately (or really, any time since the invention of the printing press) you’ve likely heard that truth asserted (whined about?) more than a few times. And it’s true, but there are a few lights on the publishing horizon that are worth considering. And one of the brightest ones in Canada is the Word Alive Press Just Write! publishing contest. Every year Word Alive out of Winnipeg, Manitoba, offers a publishing contest that is open to everyone, free to enter, and offers two fantastic prize packages: free publishing and marketing for the winning fiction and non-fiction entries.

In 2010, The Watcher, my first suspense novel, was chosen as the winner of the Word Alive contest. I will never forget the call I received, letting me know that my life-long dream of having a novel published was about to be fulfilled.

In the months that followed, I worked closely with the wonderful staff at Word Alive to:

~ submit my ideas for a cover (many of which they incorporated into the final, gorgeous cover that I was contractually free to approve or disapprove, a luxury not afforded most authors)

~ have my book edited in a give and take, back and forth process that left both the editor and I happy with the final product

~ have as many books as I cared to order printed and delivered to my door, while Word Alive handled all sales and distribution to bookstores across North America

~ have The Watcher marketed and promoted by the Word Alive Sales Team, and available wherever books are sold

~ receive support and encouragement with setting up a book launch and attending/being involved with other book promotion events

and have blog tours and radio interviews set up by Word Alive in order to promote my book

In all, my experience with Word Alive was fantastic. I will always be grateful that Word Alive gave me the change to hold my book in my hand, and to get it into the hands of others to read as well.

Just Write: Free Publishing Contest 2012The deadline for the 2012 Word Alive publishing contest is June 15, 2012. If you have a manuscript ready, seriously think about sending it in to the contest to be considered for publication. It is a tough business, maybe now more than ever. But Word Alive is offering the opportunity of a lifetime, and I for one am glad that I grabbed it.

Press on, my friends. Press on,

Sara

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It’s an Honour Just to be …

Posted on April 26, 2012 by

… nominated. It’s become a bit of a cliche, but more often than not there is a reason for that: the words are true. As they are in this case. The Word Guild, Canada’s largest organization of writers and editors who are Christian, released the short lists for their annual writing awards yesterday, and The Watcher is a finalist in the Best Novel – Mystery category.

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I really try to write in response to a gift and a calling, and not for recognition, money, fame or reward (wouldn’t that be setting myself up for disappointment?!?). However, when a bit of affirmation, like this nomination, does occur, I have to admit it is encouraging, and does inspire me to carry one with my writing journey and goals.

So thank you, members and supporters of The Word Guild, for this vote of confidence. And congratulations to all my fellow nominees, and to all those, shortlisted or not, whose words were published and read last year. You may never know this side of heaven what effect your writing has had on the lives of others, but no work done in response to the prompting and guiding of the One who gives the gifts will return void, so continue on, with or without earthly recognition.

Because to be given the gift of writing is to be given a sacred charge from God, and that is the greatest honour of all.

Press on, my friends. Press on,

Sara

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For Such a Time as This

Posted on February 13, 2012 by

I am not a gypsy. However, I have begun to feel uncomfortably like one lately. After many years in the same city, bringing up my children in the same big farmhouse near family and friends, we moved to a brand new town where we didn’t know a soul. That was a year and a half ago, and it was a big change for all of us. We moved to a home near the downtown core where everything was close. Too close. After eleven months we all agreed that we needed to get back out in the country, so we moved twenty minutes north, up to the gateway to cottage country where we are surrounded by nothing but rocks, water and trees.

A month later a great job opportunity came up for my husband. He applied for and got the position – thirty minutes south of the town we had been living in. That 50-minute commute is a lot, especially where we live, which is (normally) snow country. So now, four months after our last move, we are planning another one. For those of you keeping track, that is three moves in a year and a half. And yet another new school for my (hopefully as resilient as everyone keeps telling me they are) kids.

Recently, our pastor spoke about Esther, and how God had placed her in the palace “for such a time as this.” The lesson in Esther is that God does care where we live, as our neighbourhoods become our sphere of influence. He is sovereign, He has a plan, and He has a place He wants us to be. So, as we face another challenging time of transition in our lives, we will trust. And cling to the following promise: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9, NIV)

And, although I feel compelled to tell everyone that, no, we are not in a witness protection program, or the military (although either of those reasons, or even the gypsy thing, might actually sound more plausible than the truth) I will not worry about trying to explain our actions, I will just trust. And I will start packing. Fortunately, in a case of amazing (if accidental) foresight, we still have a number of our possessions in boxes from the last time around, which is very convenient. And we will also be able to save time by not having to put up the pictures that are still sitting on the floor, leaning up against the wall below the spots I had envisioned they would one day be displayed.

Funny how those things that normally hang over your head (read: grate on your nerves) can actually turn out, in seasons of life like the one we are currently in, to be the small mercies that help you get through the day.

Press on, my friends. Press on,

Sara

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He’s Not Wearing Any Clothes for Goodness’ Sake! How Christian Fiction is Becoming Relevant Again

Posted on January 24, 2012 by

Plastic. Pious. Preachy. What are “the words most commonly used to describe the novels being put out by Christian writers over the last fifty to sixty years, Alex?”

Less an answer to a popular game show question, and more – often well-deserved – criticism, the real question remains: can mainstream Christian fiction come back from Stepford Wives territory far enough to get the majority of Christians, let alone the general population, reading it again? And is it possible for these stories to actually fulfil the purpose God intended for them – to have a positive impact on the lives of hurting, broken, searching people, and on a broken, hurting, searching society in general?

Christian writing, not surprisingly, tends to reflect the current climate in mainstream, evangelical churches.  Starting around the fifties and continuing for thirty or forty years, the prevailing attitude seems to have been that, as Christians, we should not reveal to “the world” that we had any problems at all, that we struggled with the same temptations and vices that “they” did. We weren’t susceptible to addictions, we didn’t suffer from depression or even get sad, we didn’t drink, smoke, chew or go with girls who do, you get the idea.

In my opinion, this has a lot to do with the prevalence of big-name American preachers and televangelists, and the promotion of the “health and wealth” gospel. The driving force behind this movement was the belief (or claimed belief) that if a Christian had enough faith, he or she would never suffer the effects of living as a broken person in a fallen world like an unsaved, or weak-in-their-faith believer, did. I am convinced that every single person who called themselves a Christian during this time, whether they stood behind a pulpit or sat in the family pew week after week, knew deep down that he or she was as prone to wander as the most blatant sinner. However, it was easy to succumb to this “Emperor’s New Clothes” way of thinking – the idea that admitting any kind of weakness or lack in their lives or character was a profession of weak faith.

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Presenting a front of perfect health, a substantial bank account, and a perpetually cheerful disposition proclaimed to fellow believers and to the world that your faith was strong and active, so naturally your life was worry-free and everything you turned your hand to prospered. This attitude, that true Christians couldn’t let anyone know that their lives were not always perfect and that they did – gasp – doubt and struggle with their faith on occasion (or more likely often), lest others be turned away from Christ and the church forever, naturally came out in the books Christians were writing.

A new movement began in the ‘80’s and ‘90s, the “seeker-sensitive” approach to doing church. Although this movement has issues of its own, one of the best things to come out of it is a willingness to be transparent, to admit that, as believers, we actually do struggle with the same doubts, addictions, illnesses, and temptations that the rest of humanity grapples with. The now prevailing “no perfect people allowed” philosophy is slowly making its way into the pages of Christian novels.

Plastic, smiling, one-dimensional, sinless characters are becoming more and more rare, as publishers realize that readers have little or no capacity (or desire) to connect with people that have no weaknesses and that can find a magical solution to all of life’s problems by grabbing a Bible and allowing it to fall open to a random passage. Not every problem is solved, not every person is saved, and not every story ends happily in life, so they should not always do so in fiction either, although hope and the possibility of redemption remain vital components in Christian literature.  The stories are, slowly, becoming more honest, real, raw, messy and complex, much like life itself. And the solutions offered, if there are any, are often two-edged, complicated, and certainly much less “tied up in a nice neat bow” than in the past. Again, sort of like they tend to be in real life.

As far as I am concerned, this is a good thing. In fact, it might even be a great thing. Although not all critics and readers will agree, I believe that the new Christian fiction has a greater capacity to impact and change lives, since readers can now see themselves and their own struggles in the way the characters in the book experience and deal with real-life issues and problems.  

After all, if we refuse to reveal brokenness, helplessness, doubt, failure, and self-destructive behaviour in our characters – and in our own lives – how can we hope to bear witness to the powerful, life-giving, transforming, pulling-out-of-the pit grace of God?

If that one little girl in the crowd hadn’t had the courage and perception to shout out that the emperor wasn’t wearing any clothes, the poor guy would have ridden around all day, secretly (or not so secretly) laughed at and mocked (not to mention severely chafed), and cloaked in nothing but the faulty belief that he was the only one without the wisdom and strength of character to see the magical garments.

I would wager a great deal that not many in the crowd were drawn to emulating his actions that day. It was not until he admitted that he had been deceived that he and his people could begin to counter-act the effects of the lie in the only way possible – with the truth.   

And it is these two powerful weapons – truth and transparency – that the writers of Christian fiction have (finally) begun to wield again. In so doing, they have renewed the hope that their God-given stories just might become relevant once more, restoring their ability to impact and change not only individual lives, but the world.  

 Press on, my friends. Press on,

Sara

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An Old Prayer for a New Year

Posted on December 31, 2011 by

As I write this, in my time zone we are about nine and a half hours away from a brand new year. I am reminded of a quote from Anne of Green Gables, when she says that, “today is a new day with no mistakes in it.” While her teacher was quick to add, “well, no mistakes in it yet, anyway,” an acknowledgement of the vast ability we humans have to fall and mess up at an alarming rate, still I find the sentiment encouraging and applicable to tonight’s celebrations. It’s a new year, with no mistakes in it.

I will make some resolutions today, in spite of the fact that we humans also have a tremendous capacity to break those at an alarming rate. Some I have made many times before, and some will be new. The biggest one will be to, along with the rest of my church, read through the entire Bible in 2012. This resolution I have made before too, and sometimes kept it until as late as April or May before falling off, but this time I am not alone which always helps.

Another resolution will be to do everything in my power to make The Child-Snatchers as excellent as possible, and then to try to find a home for it. The sequel is already pretty much written in my head, so I will also be resolving to get that down on paper some time before the end of this year too. With that in mind, and as a salute to all those who, against the odds and at great risk to their self-esteem and confidence, will put pen to paper this year and attempt to get the words and the stories that God has given them out there where others can read them, I would like to re-post the following prayer from my former blog:  

Author’s Prayer
by Sara Davison

Father God, maker of heaven and earth,
Who communicated with us through words engraved in stone by your own mighty hand,
And gave us words, inspired and God-breathed, so that we might know you, and know the plan and purpose you have for our lives.
We thank you for the gift of creating, and accept it as a sacred trust,
Praying that, as we use it, we will reflect and bring glory to you, our Creator God.
May you bless the words we have written,
And use them to touch the hearts and lives of those who read them.
And above all, may they bring glory and honour to the Word who was made flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.

Because it is in His name we pray,
Amen

Press on, my friends. Press on – and may God bless and guide you and your words in the year ahead!

Sara

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It’s a Simple Christmas (Again), Charlie Brown

Posted on December 23, 2011 by
 
It’s snowing.
 
Since it’s December 23rd, and I do live in northern Ontario, this shouldn’t be huge news, but for some reason it is this year. Yesterday it rained, and everything was green and brown and grey and dreary, not at all “Christmas-y”. I actually got tears in my eyes when I heard Bing Crosby on the radio singing “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.” This morning though, when we woke up, a beautiful layer of white snow sparkled on the ground and the trees. It’s incredible how much the weather can affect, rightly or wrongly, your mood and your spirit. And while I know the weather has absolutely nothing to do with the real meaning and significance of the season, and that the lack of snow is likely much more authentically like that first Christmas, the beauty and freshness of this morning is helping me to focus and draw my thoughts to where I would like them to be at this holy time.
 
I learned some lessons last year on the importance of keeping things simple at this time of year. In light of that, I am putting up my Christmas post from last year, and from my former blog, to remind  myself of what is really important at a time of year that can get extremely hectic and stressful. The following is from that post, nominated in June 2011 for a national writing award with The Word Guild:
 
 So I’m having a really hard time getting into the swing of the season. Somehow I think I may have missed the Christmas frenzy train that pulled out of the station some time during the last couple of months. I any case, I can’t seem to work up a good, motivating stress regarding everything that needs to be done in the next two weeks.I haven’t really done much shopping, mostly because we’re jumping all over the keeping it simple theme that seems to be prevailing this year. I’m not as clear why the decorating isn’t being done. All we typically do for outdoor lighting is hang a giant wreath on the front of the house and plug it in. Two weeks ago, though, when I went to do this, the string of mini lights at the top of the wreath worked, while the string at the bottom didn’t. I briefly contemplated the idea of trying to pass off a giant horseshoe hanging on the house as nouveau Christmas décor, then gave up and took the wreath back down. It is still sitting in the laundry room waiting for someone to go over the lights one by one to determine which is the culprit. For some inexplicable reason neither my husband nor I have leapt at the chance to be the one to do the job. I imagine we’ll get around to it some time in February. In the meantime, the house sits in grinch-like darkness while the rest of the neighbourhood glows around it. Kind of a Griswold Christmas vacation in reverse, if you will.

We did get the tree up. A week ago. And it’s still standing, as naked and forlorn as the day it was chopped down in the forest. (Okay, who am I kidding, the day it was brought home in a box from Canadian Tire eleven years ago). Again, not exactly sure why the boxes of decorations one room over haven’t made their way into the family room so we can infuse the poor thing with some Christmas cheer, but there they sit, right next door. And there the tree stands, holding out its poor, somewhat bedraggled after all these years of stuffing it back into the box after the holidays, branches as if in supplication. Charlie Brown would not be impressed.

 
ImageBaking? Not so much. The couple of pans of squares I managed to make have mysteriously disappeared already. Actually, not mysteriously so much as secretly, as I have to admit I did sneak downstairs in the middle of a more than one late-night writing session searching for something with which to “boost my creative energy.” (Hello, 65,000 words in November – did you really think that was done without the benefit of countless cups of coffee and excessive amounts of sugar?) Oh. I may have just solved the whole apathy towards the relentless passing of time between now and Christmas thing. There’s a slight chance, now that I think about it, that it could have less to do with the inner peace I had fooled myself into thinking I had achieved, and more to do with the withdrawal. Hmmm. Anyway, no more baking.

So we are, intentionally or unintentionally, embracing the concept of simplicity this Christmas season.(I’m going with intentionally.) And we haven’t failed to mark the season completely. We have attended a Walk through Bethlehem at a local church and been moved, twice, by the Christmas production my kids were involved in. We’re reading Christmas stories in front of the fire and learning more about Advent, a tradition I did not grow up with in my church and am loving. So maybe the important things are being done after all.

I may have a difficult time convincing my extended family of this when all twenty of them arrive on Christmas day to a home cloaked in darkness, a bag of store-bought cookies for dessert, and a naked tree in the front room, but oh well. As Linus would say, it’s all about the baby in the manger anyway. And as I sit here I can see my kids cutting out decorations from bits of coloured paper, and hear them singing angel and shepherd songs from their play last weekend, and I realize suddenly that not one of them has even mentioned making a Christmas list of all the stuff they want.

Maybe Charlie Brown would be a little bit impressed after all.

Press on, my friends. Press on. And God bless you and your family as you celebrate the birth of Hs Son together this Christmas.

Sara

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An Interview With Author Jayne Self

Posted on December 6, 2011 by

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How did you get started?

I have always imagined stories, but way back in 1998, I was toying with a story idea that revolved around the millennium. If I was ever to write a book, the time had arrived. I bought a dozen little dollar store notebooks and started scribbling. Every Monday night I read the latest installment to my weekly knitting group. They cheered me on, encouraging me to keep going until the story was done. 180,000 words later! It was their insistence that the world needed to read my story that prompted me to attend my first writers’ conference. I’m still writing. And maybe one day that first story will actually get published.

 Why do you write?

What else would I do? For me, writing is like an addiction—I can’t imagine my life without it. I do struggle with the value of writing fiction, however. Many Christians ignore the number of parables lining scripture, and consider non-fiction the only writing worthy of God. That attitude’s rubbed off on me. I don’t agree, but sometimes I have a hard time shaking it.

How do you fit writing into your schedule?

Because Murder In Hum Harbour is my first published book, until now I’ve considered writing more hobby than career. Yes, I try to dedicate a few hours each day to writing, but the truth is, life interferes. Other commitments seem more pressing. I believe the person God puts in my path today is a greater priority than the story that may be published someday in the future. Until I have contractual commitments that dictate otherwise, I’m sticking with this.

How did this book come to be?

Murder In Hum Harbour is actually the fifth novel I’ve written. I wrote it with a specific publisher in mind, so it’s definitely the most intentional of my novels. I reviewed my past writings, looking for commonalities—like point of view, style, romance-humor mix, medical sidebars, and small town setting—and designed a story that included those features, and met the publisher’s guidelines. Despite my natural inclination to chafe at limits, I accepted the publisher’s restrictions like: no theological distinctive, no denominational affiliations, no ‘questionable’ terminology, no sexual content, no blood. Not that I necessarily wanted those elements in my story, I just don’t like being told I couldn’t. In the end, the publisher I wrote this for terminated their mystery line, and Harbourlight, who has now published it, seems less restrictive. 

Short description of book.

When Hum Harbour Nova Scotia’s newly retired doctor dies under mysterious circumstances, part time medical receptionist, part-time jewelry crafter, Gailynn MacDonald sets out to find his killer. Since she’s related to one half of the village, and has known the rest all her life, she thinks it will be easy. But secrets, misunderstandings, and childhood phobias have Gailynn blundering her way into places she should never go. If not for Geoff Grant, her handsome new employer, she’d be in over her head. But maybe she is anyway, because Gailynn never expected to fall in love.

Murder In Hum Harbour is a short, cozy mystery full of quirky characters and small-town charm, published by Harbourlight Books. 

 A link to the book trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VrUSIFjw4qg

 

An excerpt from Murder In Hum Harbour:                            Image                     

 

 

I learned something new about myself the day I found Doc Campbell. Dead bodies freak me out.

A cold fog shrouded the world that morning and after the weekend storm, the silent waves nuzzling the shore seemed insanely gentle. I kept my head down, studying the wet gravel as I walked. Anywhere, at any moment, a brilliant sliver of sea glass might catch my eye. Sea glass is a treasure to be gathered, hoarded and sparingly used in the jewelry I create.  I spotted a slice of violet and crouched low, unable to believe my good fortune. Violet sea glass is among the rarest of jewels.

Beyond Hum Harbour’s breakwater a foghorn sounded, its eerie echo raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck. A breeze whispered among the invisible evergreens on the hillside above me, and I looked up in time to see the fog shift ever so slightly.

I’d reached the end of the beach where ancient granite rocks guard the harbor mouth. They rise like a giant whale’s back above the low tidal waters. Impaled on their slick black surface I saw the ghostly silhouette of a large boat. Stuffing the bit of violet glass into my gathering bag, I crept close enough to make out the shredded bits of sail clinging to its mast.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

The whole spooky scene seemed more fitting of a movie than my daily stroll along the beach, and my heart beat faster. Nothing seems alive on a foggy day. I usually find the sensation comforting, even cozy. But this morning it unnerved me.

“If you’re there, please say something. I’m coming up to see if I can help.” It might sound crazy warning a derelict cabin cruiser boat I was approaching but I didn’t want any nasty surprises.

And surprised I was, because when I got close enough and read the name painted on the boat’s hull, I knew whose boat this was.

“Doc? Are you in there?”

Doc Campbell is, or was, Hum Harbour’s only doctor for the past thirty-some years. He’d just retired. In fact, his bon voyage party was Friday night, and he’d set sail for the Caribbean at the crack of dawn the next morning. So what was his boat, the Medical Convention, doing here, on the rocks, on Monday?

Slipping, sliding, I scrambled up the rocks until I was above her and could see into the boat.

“Doc? Can you hear me?”

I tried to make sense of what lay before me. Wedged firmly on the rock, the Medical Convention listed badly to port. Several inches of water pooled in her lowest point, otherwise the deck looked neat as a pin. Crates were safely battened down, the tiny lifeboat securely fastened along the stern. The only sign of trouble, apart from the boat’s obvious position on dry land, was the oddly-shaped lump propping the cabin cruiser’s door open.

Once again an errant breeze lifted the torn fabric. I leaned closer. Doc Campbell lay face down in the pooled water, his pewter hair plastered against his skull, his broad shoulders motionless.

Heart in my throat, I ran.

 

Hope you enjoyed this snapshot of the murder mystery Murder in Hum Harbour, and of author Jayne Self. If you are unable to attend the Authors Book Fair in Guelph, Ontario, this Saturday, Dec. 10th, look for Jayne on-line  at

www.jayneself.com

to order her book to give to your favourite cozy murder mystery fan(s) this Christmas!

Press on, my friends. Press on,

Sara

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