A Call to Arms. A Call to Love.

I believe in the power of good women united by common goals. 

I also believe in the power of kindness and love to reach those goals. Recently, Open Thought Vortex Magazine invited me to share my thoughts on feminism during Women's Empowerment Month. I was pleased to share the following:

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Feminism gets a bad rap. The term has been twisted to convey something far different than its original definition:

1.  the theory of political, economic, & social equality of the sexes

2.  organized activity on behalf of women's rights & interests

Basic. Elegant. Yet somehow feminism has become associated with radical behavior, extremely liberal opinions, and pointing the finger of blame at men, politicians, society, etc.

I’m a 40-year-old woman from rural Utah who teaches kindergarten and writes Young Adult novels. I refuse to support action that harms, demeans, or degrades others whose sex, age, political views, or religion differ from mine. And since today’s predominant strategy for promoting women’s rights is shouting your grievances at the top of your lungs, I tend to distance myself from it. The kindergarten teacher in me can’t see the difference between that strategy and the kid who declares himself (or herself) King of the Jungle Gym and enforces his (or her) claim through a series of playground scuffles.

I’ve seen my fair share of intolerance. I live in a particularly diverse area in Northern Utah where there is often tension resulting from differing political standpoints, religious beliefs, and even warring gangs. Local Pastor Monica Hall stated, “[There is] a natural tendency to draw distinctions and define each other. Definitions such as: she is Muslim, he is black, she is Presbyterian, he is Latino, they are Mormon, etc. . . . Such definitions can draw boundaries of who WE are and who THEY are. These boundaries can be dangerous. They can be dangerous when we use the boundary of division to ignore human needs.”

That’s my main issue with feminism. When we paint ourselves as victims and everyone else as aggressors, there’s no one left to explore solutions to the common problems we face.

Actress Emma Watson had plenty to say on the subject. “If we stop defining each other by what we are not and start defining ourselves by who we are, we can be much freer.”

In my classroom alone, I encounter bias, misconceptions, and intolerance. Kids already have a lot of baggage by the time they step into my room.  I do my best to employ a practice that reaches hearts, souls, and minds. It’s called Love. Love and Listen.

If all we do is scream about the world’s injustices, nothing will ever change. But if we take on our noble role as women who lead, nurture, teach, inspire, and uplift, we can effect change.

Author Norah Ephron summed it up beautifully. “Above all, be the heroine of your own life.”

That’s what I want. That’s MY prime goal as a feminist, to be the best me I can be and to bring as many women, girls, mothers, and sisters along with me as possible.

Author Francesca Lia Block said, “Just like any woman . . . we weave our stories out of our bodies, some of us through our children, or our art; some do it just by living. It’s all the same.”

I effect change in my classroom and in my novels, with my students, friends, and family. I stand up for what I believe and I refuse to hide who I am. I am a woman and I am powerful. And I believe in the power of love and kindness.

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Thanks for dropping by, my dears! If you'd like to read more women's empowerment, revisit The Making of a Woman or pop over to OTV Magazine and peruse the March 2017 posts. And please leave me your thoughts on womanhood and feminism in a comment below. Go forth and be awesome, my friends!

My Inner Beauty

Sarah E. Boucher:
 Adorable Author, Awesome Educator

I've always been a plumpy girl. Curvaceous. Zaftig. Full-figured. Whatever you'd like to call it.

Except Big Boned. Referring to the author as Big Boned will result in a beating. Or a timeout.

This summer, at the height of my squishiness, I hit my 40th birthday. The word hit is strategically selected. In July, one might say a Titanic's worth of emotions collided with an iceberg of drama which spewed over into the sea of my soul. Thoughts of what I've done with my life and who I've become have plagued me all year.

My inner dialogue went something like this:

The critic: 
Fourty. FOUR-TY. Sheesh, that seems old. And still single eh? That's not at all depressing, is it?

The optimist:
Whatever. I've done AMAZING things in my singleton years. And I'm not miserable. I've been a teacher for the better part of 15 years, which means hundreds of kids have been mothered and loved and disciplined, and taught cool stuff like Rhombus and Arachnid. I did that. Also, I write good books man.

The critic: 
Well that's true. So, basically, I'm awesome, right?

The optimist: 
Yup.

How did I get from squishy to awesome? I changed the label I was living under, something I learned from a cranky kindergartner.

See, I carried the title of Mean Teacher for a year before I realized I'd allowed a cranky kindergartner to determine how I felt about myself  as a human. One day I realized that the only one still referring to me as Mean Teacher was me. So, I began looking myself in the mirror and calling myself Awesome. It took longer than accepting the negative label, but it stuck. 

Somewhere along the way, I began to see my own Beauty. I started using words like cute, pretty, and adorable to describe myself. Occasionally my inner critic has a thing to say about that. But I just tell it to shut up and focus on not poking myself in the eye with the eyeliner. Because really, how can a woman with red hair and dimples not be adorable? 

Every girl wants to be the hero of her own story. The Beauty to her Beast. The leading lady in her own romantic comedy. Good stories hinge on a character's journey. That's my story so far. I feel like Belle stepping into that amazing library for the first time. There's still so much to see and do. So many more stories left to discover.

I want to build a blanket fort there! Who's with me?
Learn more on the Disney Wiki

I encourage you, my dear friends, to discover your Inner Awesome. It's not ego and entitlement, but that spark of amazing we all carry within us that drives us to work harder and become better.

And if you need a bit more empowerment, allow me to help you out:
The Making of a Woman
Sassy Pants: Be Your Own Wonder Woman
Plot Twist: Learning to Laugh at Yourself

Thanks for dropping by! I'd love to hear about your journeys! Leave me a comment!

The Making of a Woman

Misconceptions about womanhood are played out in books and on the big and small screen all the time.  To believe that emphasizing the attractiveness of a woman's face or the firmness of her thighs will have no effect on how men view women or how young women see themselves is a lie.

Writers who perpetuate such misconceptions do a disservice to womankind.

Lately, I've been editing my version of The Twelve Dancing Princesses featuring a dozen distinct female characters. The journey from character sketch to final scene taught me a great deal about what makes a woman.

Let me tell you, it ain't those size 0 jeans. (Especially if the lady in question happens to be fond of chocolate. Or human.)

And it certainly isn't a blemish-free face. We earned those wrinkles with years of laughter and tears, didn't we? 
Could it be the sweet, patient woman who holds her tongue when perturbed? Perhaps.

But it could just as easily be the sharp-tongued lass who gives as good as she gets.

Might it be the glowing wit that leaves a room rolling with laughter? Maybe.

But it might also be she who delivers speeches that inspire, uplift, and move a room to tears and brave acts.

Being a woman may include a heart worn on a sleeve for all to see and abuse. It may include a tough skin built to guard a soft heart from hurt.

True womanhood encompasses a number of human foibles, mistakes and missteps that make a character human, lovable, and more understanding of others.
The women featured in literature should be a reflection of the mothers, grandmothers, sisters, and wonderful aunties in our lives. Good, bad, interesting, bland. Real. And more than a pretty face and an itty bitty dress size or a big bottom and a penchant for donuts.

Because that doesn't define us.

Real women are driven by love, pain, anger, jealousy, protectiveness, loyalty, and a myriad of other things. Shouldn't they have a place in literature? Shouldn't they have a chance to shape the way men think about us or what young women learn to value in themselves?

The more complex, intriguing woman I transform from  fairytales princesses who suck up the abuse only to become trophy wivee into complex, intriguing women, the better I feel. Isn't it time to stand up for real women with saddle bags, rings under their eyes, and no energy? Isn't it time to celebrate motherhood and dirty diapers and potty training? Isn't it time to celebrate women who work their butts off to make a difference in the world?

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Thanks for dropping by! Feel free to leave me a comment and share your tips on crafting female characters. And if you'd love to read more about writing awesome heroes, peruse away!
Develop Sassy Heroes by Being One
Barbie's Dream Boat
Classic Heroines: Anne of Green Gables
The Power of Fairytales
Fairytales & Fancy Footwear
Diva Depressed
Funny Girls: Hostile Makeover

Humor & Inspiration: All The Awesomeness

It's been a pleasure hosting so many writers this year. I've learned from each and every one. And I will certainly be doing this again!
For your viewing pleasure, I present, the Humor & Inspiration Features in their entirety:

Author, editor, and overall amazing human being Lydia Thomas explains why there is no way on this green planet that she will write your memoirs. And why you should just walk away when someone says, “I have this amazing idea for a book! You’ll make millions!”

Brilliant mommy blogger Cathy from Prairie Wife in Heels shows there's no such thing as The Idyllic Country Life. (Especially with a houseful of little ones.) But when you're a City Girl turned Country Mama, there are ways to inspire and spread understanding in the world of women.

Annoyed with autocorrect? Gifted author and blogger Anne Goodwin
shares the fun (or outright challenge and frustration) of dealing with words that behave like toddlers. Anne inspires and causes laughing fits in equal measure. And she'll only make you slightly worried about double-checking your posts before you publish them...

Rockstar Terry Tyler, who's an author, blogger, book reviewer, and about seven other super cool things, gives us a crash course on inspiration. And yes, when you write character-driven novels, you draw inspiration from life. Nutty strangers on the bus beware!

Wise words from blogger and massage therapist Kaley Tallman! Kaley urges us to abandon the comfort zone in favor of pursuing the good life. So get comfortable, grab your favorite beverage, settle in for a spot of inspiration, and get ready to make your life amazing!

Avid readers turned writers? Yes please! If you need a good read, this is the one to peruse! Heidi Doxey, editor, writer, and blogger, shares her favorite reads, which all happen to be by British writers. Like they do for her, they'll inspire you and keep the laughter flowing. 

Carol J. Hedges is one of my favorite people, even though we've never met. Mentor, author, and fashion savvy super gran Carol takes on the subject of the comments people make when they find out you're a writer/author. Carol will train you to handle it with grace and humor.

Awesome author, blogger, and mama Allison Maruska takes on the subject of Quit Days. (You know, those days when you want to throw in the towel and drown your sorrow in a package of Oreos?) How do you deal? Allison walks us through the steps back to sanity.

Colleen M. Story, author, editor, and ghost writer takes on the subject of writers with (and without) personalities. 
Are writers with personality a dying breed? (Don't worry, Colleen's got plenty of personality and she urges all of us to strut our stuff as well.)

Tamara Copley has been writing and illustrating since the dawn of time. She shares her opinion on the importance of humor in writing. And the issues when humor is mishandled and/or badly done. Also, STAR WARS!

Sarah E. Boucher (that'd be writerly, authory, bloggery me) chats candidly about the ups and downs of the writing world. It's all about finding the funny, my friends! And developing a sense of humor so we can laughing in life's face instead of crying into a carton of Ben and Jerry's.

Our caboose Jenniffer Wardell brings up the rear! An accomplished fairytale romance writer, Jenniffer talks about humor, life, everyday heroes, and a new type of story that doesn't feature heroines with superhuman abilities. Sounds amazing. right?

There you have it, friends! All the awesomeness in one handy place! Thanks for participating, ladies! Nothing but love for you! If you'd like to follow any of my featurees on social media, follow the link their posts. Happy internet stalking!

A Proper Romance

There's something magical about a premiere novel, through it a writer's voice and style is introduced to the world. 

Along with her premiere novel, Julianne Donaldson created a new genre, the Proper Romance. Donaldson is apparently a girl like me, who enjoys a clean read without all the religious mumbo jumbo. Don't get me wrong, religion and romance have their place in life, but reading about them can become preachy and, well icky.

A Proper Romance strikes the happy medium between Christian Romance and Adult Romance. Donaldson's first book, Edenbrooke, is a perfect example. It's chock full of exuberance, humor, and first love. 

Marianne Daventry isn't your run-of-the-mill debutante. She's fond of twirling, meandering through the great outdoors, and singing ridiculous songs about cows. (Seriously.) How can she ever hope to become the type of lady worthy of a great fortune and marrying well? However, when the situation arises, Marianne must rise to the occasion, and with her sparkling sense of humor, wonderful heart, and innate clumsiness, hilarity and heartbreak are sure to be in ample supply.  

Edenbrooke is the favorite of my niece, Amy, who probably identifies a little too well with nutty/adorable/genuine Marianne. Amy's real-life romance, riddled with many a ridiculous moment, rivals Marianne's. If you enjoy a healthy dose of awkward giggle with your romance, Edenbrooke is the Proper Romance for you.

Just as the premiere novel tells a lot about a new writer, the sophomore novel reveals even more. Sophomore novels show how much the writer has grown and what storytelling skills they have refined. More than anything, seeing the direction an author takes after the first novel is fascinating. 

The entire tenor of Blackmoore is darker, more serious, and more suspenseful than Edenbrooke. Kate Worthington (not Kitty as she has been called since girlhood) faces prejudice based on her less-than-proper family relations, her past, and her friendship with a titled young man. Unraveling the threads of Kate's past alongside Henry Delafield, her best friend, is an absolute delight. And untangling her growing feelings for Henry is both delicious and heartbreaking. 

The depth and romance of Blackmoore makes it my favorite of Donaldson's novels. It's like the friend who is more interesting and solid because of the hell they've been through. Don't get me wrong, those happy-go-lucky folks are lovely and they bring the laughter, but they may not be the ones you want at your side when the crap hits the fan. 

Discovering clean books that are clever, humorous, and full of heart is the best. I can recommend them to others with a clear conscience, which is my absolute favorite. I like to think of Becoming Beauty as a Proper Romance (even though Donaldson's publisher didn't pick it up). There's just enough flirty/snarky romance to keep things interesting, but not enough to reach the ick zone. 

Find Donaldson's books on Amazon: Edenbrooke, Blackmoore, and just arriving on the scene Heir to Edenbrooke, the prequel to Edenbrooke. Oh, it's gonna be good!

I'd love to hear about your Proper Romance favorites...for instance, anything Jane Austen will do! Leave me a comment!

Christmas Miracle--Part II

Thanks for coming back! The holidays are approaching! And here I am, counting down the moments until I can truly celebrate (a.k.a. stay in bed until everyone forgets what I look like or I have to emerge for chocolate). Anyway, my dears, the story goes on!
Last time we left Lydia Perkins smack in the middle of holiday preparations with the arrival of an unexpected visitor. As Lydia struggles to keep the magic of Christmas alive, she may have a helper during the holidays.

The Christmas Miracle of Lydia Perkins

Part 2

The next day, Lydia found herself elbow-deep in caramel corn. Tommy and Jimmy were happily patting their cooled corn into bulbous mounds, licking their palms periodically to remove excess caramel.  Ick, she thought, glad she only let the boys make their own holiday treats.  Goody plates were meant to spread holiday cheer, not runny noses or whatever boy cooties they were carrying. 

Lydia added the last carefully molded popcorn ball to the tray, automatically smacking a pudgy hand as it reached for one. “You’ve got your own,” she said, unaffected by the wounded look on Jimmy’s face as he rubbed his dimpled paw. “These are for the neighbors.”

She rinsed her hands at the sink before pulling out the colored plastic wrap and ribbon. “Would you like to help me wrap them up, boys?” she asked. They bounced about eagerly, grabbing sticky-fingered for the ribbon. “Hands clean first, please,” she reminded them, deftly scooting the ribbon out of reach just in time. The boys tumbled off the bench, squabbling about who got to wash first. Lydia had just started cutting lengths of ribbon when the doorbell rang.

“Tommy can you get the door?” she called, snipping the last ribbon while the boys raced off.

“Mommy, come quick!” Jimmy hollered excitedly. Lydia carefully set down the scissors and went to investigate.

Jimmy was bouncing up and down, and Tommy was holding the door open proudly, a Christmas tree filling the doorway. “What in the world?” she asked, bewilderedly.

A cheery, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” issued from the tree. The man from the day before peeked around it, greeting Lydia with a wide grin. “I hope it’s not too much,” he said quietly, “but I noticed you didn’t have one yet.”

She floundered for a moment, glancing down at the boys. They peered up at her with wide expectant eyes. How could she refuse?

“Thank you, it’s beautiful,” she said, helping him to ease it through the doorway.  “You really didn’t have to do this, though.”

“I wanted to say thank you for helping me out last night,” he said as he set it up in the spot she indicated. “It’s not Christmas without a real tree.” The boys were still dancing around, sniffing the piney aroma, and whispering to one another excitedly.

“Thank you. We’ve never had a real tree,” Lydia said, brushing the needled branches gently.  “It’s lovely.”

“My pleasure,” he said, his customary smile in place. There was something familiar in that smile, a long lost memory struggled to resurface, but couldn’t.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” the boys called, dragging her back to reality with their pleading. “Can we decorate it? Please! Please! Please! Please!”

“All right, you may bring out the ornaments, but be careful with the boxes.”

The two boys grabbed the man’s hands, yanking him along with them.  “You can help us,” Tommy said. 

“I get to put the star on top!” Jimmy proclaimed as they hurried to the bedroom closet. The man glanced back at Lydia, amusement painting his features. Typically, it might make her nervous to let her children run off with a perfect stranger, but something about him put her at ease.  And really, those two rapscallions were more of danger to him.

“I find it easier not to argue,” she whispered loudly.

A few minutes later they emerged from the bedroom, each carrying a large plastic bin. The boys had theirs open in a moment, oohing and awwwing over the contents. The man came to stand beside her and watch them trim the tree. 

“They really are nice boys,” he said approvingly.

“Yes, they are. They have just enough sweetness to keep me sane and just enough naughtiness to keep life interesting.” She reached to tousled Jimmy’s hair lovingly as she said it.  “Which reminds me, I haven’t even introduced them to you. This is Jimmy,” she patted him on the shoulder, “and that’s Tommy.”

“And that’s Mommy,” Jimmy chimed in, flashing his gap-toothed smile.

“Lydia, actually,” she amended, “Lydia Perkins.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand.  “I’m Mason Peters.”

“You gonna help?” Jimmy interrupted, yanking on Mason’s jacket.

“Sure, what do you want me to do?” he said, crouching down to talk to the boys.

Jimmy thrust a misshapen reindeer into his hands. “Put this on, I made it in preschool.”

Lydia chuckled quietly as Mason helped the boys. “I’m going to make some hot chocolate while you boys work on the tree.”

“Need any help?” Mason inquired politely.

“What you’re doing is more than enough,” she replied. 

As she turned to leave, Tommy handed Mason a packet of lights. “You can do the lights. Daddies are supposed to do the lights.”

Lydia froze in her tracks when she heard Mason reply, “Then won’t your daddy want to do them?”

Her stomach twisted with apprehension and she glanced over her shoulder. Tommy just shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “We don’t have a daddy.”

Mason met her gaze, a mixture of pity and understanding in his eyes as he said, “Then I’d be glad to do the lights.” 

Quickly, she turned away and hurried off to the kitchen to hide her flushed cheeks.

What will he think? She busied herself with assembling a tray of treats and gourmet hot chocolate so she wouldn’t have to think about it too much and hoped her flaming cheeks would return to normal by the time she finished. She was just grating chocolate over the frothy cream-topped mugs when Mason stepped into the kitchen.

“Anything I can do?”

“I’m just finishing up,” she replied, throwing the used utensils in the sink and stowing away the ingredients.

“So…” he said, leaning against the counter as she cleaned up. “There’s no Mr. Perkins?”

Lydia placed the milk in the fridge before responding simply, “Nope. It’s just us.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” he said, handing her the hot chocolate mix to put away, “But what happened? You seem like such a close family.”

Here it comes, Lydia thought warily, the what’s-wrong-with-you interrogation. Everyone wanted to know what she’d done to deserve this, raising two boys with no husband in sight. Directness was the only way to head off a full inquiry. “He just left. Tommy was two and I was pregnant with Jimmy. He never came back.”

“That must have been hard,” he said, his tone sympathetic.

“We manage,” she said. “Like any other family we have our good days and our bad days.”

“You’re obviously doing something right,” he said, glancing toward the living room. “Those are two great boys out there.”

“Ooh!” Lydia said, remembering the hot chocolate, “and they’re probably waiting for their treats!”  She handed Mason two mugs and carried the remaining two and the tray of treats out to the boys.

“Anybody for hot chocolate?” she asked, infusing her voice with as much cheer as she could. A chorus of “Me! Me! Me!” rang back to her. After settling the boys on the floor, she handed them each a mug and a cookie.

They were all munching away happily, admiring the newly decorated tree and sipping their cocoa, when Tommy asked, “Mommy, when are we taking the treats to the neighbors?”

“Tomorrow night, honey,” she replied.

Jimmy, snuggling up to Mason said, “We get to sing! Jingle Bells! Jingle Bells! Jingle all the way!”  He wiggled about as he sang, nearly splashing hot chocolate all over Mason’s slacks.  A quelling look from Lydia calmed him, but didn’t stop him from asking Mason, “You wanna come?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, sweety, I’m sure he’s got other plans,” Lydia said.

“Actually, I’m free,” Mason said, “But I don’t want to intrude on your family tradition.” 

“You’re welcome to come if you’d like,” Lydia assured him, secretly pleased with the idea.  “I’ll warn you that it’ll be chilly and the boys only know Jingle Bells and the first part of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”  This immediately sent the boys into an off-key rendition of Rudolph.

Mason chuckled, “Sounds great.”

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As always, thanks for dropping in! And here's Part 1, where Lydia and Mason meet for the first time. Relive the magic! Happy holidays, my dears! Here's the conclusion! Part 3

The Christmas Miracle of Lydia Perkins

So, I'm working on Book Two (a.k.a Twelve) but in the meantime, here's a little something fun I wrote for the holidays.  Meet Lydia, a single mom who's doing her best to keep the Christmas magic alive for her two boys. Don't worry, there will be romance!

The Christmas Miracle of Lydia Perkins

Part 1

Lydia wiped a blob of goo off her cheek. Every girl knew cookie dough was delicious, but cookie dough stuck to your face?  Not so much. 

Time to get a new mixer, she mentally noted, one that won’t flip food all over the place. A second thought trailed after the first one, But how can we ever afford that? She’d barely paid the mortgage this month, and had already maxed out the credit card on gifts for the boys. Whatever. She could pay it off.  Probably. By next Christmas.

“Mommmyyyyy!!!!” Her youngest son screeched to a halt behind her, yanking on her apron strings to get her attention. As if the yelling wasn’t enough. 

She turned to him, squatting down to look him in the eyes, “What is it, Jimmy?” 

“He said he’s going to kill me!” If this line had been uttered by someone else, someone without a cowlick and two front teeth missing, it might have caused more of a dramatic reaction. Jimmy never captured the right amount of tragedy, no matter how he tried. And he did try. “He said he’ll push me out the window!”

Lydia gave him a look, that special look that convinced children their mothers really did have eyes in the backs of their heads. “And what did you do?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I was just playing with my toys…” His little boy mouth pulled down at the corners.

Her eyes narrowed, intensifying the Mother Look. 

After squirming for a second, he cracked. “Well…he took my G.I. Joe, so I threw a Lego at him.  I didn’t mean to hit him in the head…”  His round hazel eyes showed genuine regret.

“What’s the rule about throwing toys?” she grilled him.

“Don’t throw toys,” he replied flatly.

“Correct. Now, you have a choice, you may play quietly with your toys and be respectful to your brother or you may go to timeout and miss dessert.”

“But mommmyyyyy…” he stretched the word out until it was practically unrecognizable, little more than a whine.  She’d thought it was so adorable the first time he’d lisped it in his baby voice.  Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Make your choice, Jimmy,” she said, holding up one finger.

“I’ll be nice,” he said, sighing and turning away.

“Tell your brother he can be nice too, or no cookies!” she called after his retreating form as she stood back up. She heard the resulting tussle as she turned back to her cookie dough. Mom said be nice or you don’t get any cookies,” Jimmy said smugly. Sighing again, she flipped the mixer up to full speed to drown them out. They wouldn’t really kill one another.

After a minute, she scraped down the sides of the bowl and folded in the chocolate chips. The day had started out so nicely too. These days, dreams were a single mom’s only escape. And last night’s had been a doozy. She’d found herself back in high school—in her size 8 high school body, no less—and on the same stage where she’d performed in numerous musicals. Her co-star, a tasty blonde with bright green eyes, decided they needed to practice the kissing scene.  Dipping her tentatively, he pecked her quickly before pulling her upright again. 

“Unconvincing!” the Nazi-of-a-director called from the audience.  “Pretend like you like each other, for Pete’s sake!”  At this her partner had dipped her full Old Hollywood style, planting a firm kiss on her lips. Lydia, taken completely by surprise, was a bit shaky when he set her back on her feet. “That’s more like it!” the director yelled encouragingly, “Except not so wooden, Lyddie! Again!”  

Her green-eyed partner looked straight into her eyes, smiling mischievously. “Let’s show them how this is done.” 

Lydia was prepared when the spin and dip came, this time pulling their bodies together to lean into his kiss.  It was meant to be a regular stage kiss, all glitz and no heart. Instead, the whole world blurred at the edges and dropped away as they melted into one another. Then, somewhere in the middle of that never-ending kiss she sensed a strange dampness on her cheek…was he actually licking her?  Or worse, was she drooling?  Oh please, let it be anything but drool! 

It was at this point that her boys had burst into her room screaming bloody murder, and she woke to find the dog lapping affectionately at her face. Perfect.

A day that began like that warranted chocolate at the end, she rationalized, and dipped a finger into the dough to make sure she hadn’t forgotten any ingredients. Everything was accounted for, so she grabbed a spoon and began scooping balls onto trays and sliding them into the oven. She had just dusted off her hands when the doorbell rang. She made her way to the door, automatically admonishing the boys to play nice as she passed their room. Easing the door open, so as to not decapitate any stray action figures, she looked out onto the porch to see an unknown man.  She left the locked screen door in between them, just in case.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but my truck stalled and my cell phone’s dead.  Could I borrow your phone?” Near-death scenarios flooded Lydia’s mind as she looked up at him, the most prominent of which was the classic single woman attacked by a wild man who carried her off and ravaged her in the woods. 

Probably an improvement on my love life. 

“Just a minute,” she said, leaving him standing on the porch, the screen door separating them as she searched the house for her purse.  “Are you boys okay?” she called down the hall. 

“Yes, mommy,” they chorused in their little boy voices, their tones beautifully innocent.

“Just keep playing in your room, please,” she instructed.  “The cookies will be out in a bit.”  She located her purse and after digging for a moment, pulled out her cell phone.  Unlocking and pushing open the screen door, she handed it to the man.

“Thanks,” he said, his lips curving up into a crooked half-grin. “I really am sorry about this, I feel like such an idiot.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she replied. “Anything else you need?” 

“No, I’ll just call Triple A and get out of your hair.” He turned away, tapping numbers into the phone. He didn’t seem like the type to drag a girl into the forest to have his way with her.  More’s the pity, she thought, he’s rather cute, like a tall Bradley Cooper. She relocked the screen door, but with a sudden attack of conscience that she’d treated him like some sort of mass murderer/rapist, she ran to pull a batch of cookies from the oven and slide a few onto a plate. Hushed little boy voices drew her attention as she headed back to the porch. Their faces were smooshed against the screen door and they were whispering to one another as they peered out at the stranger on the porch.

“Jimmy, Tommy, didn’t I ask you to play in your room?” Her free hand perched on a hip.

“But who is he, mommy?” Tommy asked, his brown eyes wide.

“Someone in trouble,” she replied, moving him gently aside so she could slip out.  She flashed her boys the “stay put” look before turning to the man.  He clicked the phone shut and handed it back to her. She took it, offering him the plate of cookies with the other hand.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, eying the cookies. “You’ve helped me out already.”

“It’s nothing,” she responded, holding the plate out again. “I know what it’s like to be stranded.” She waggled the cookies under his nose and added, “And they’re fresh from the oven.” 

“Well…all right,” he said, picking one up and taking a large bite, his eyes grew as wide as Tommy’s had been a moment ago. “Oh my gosh! These are amazing!” he said around a mouthful of cookie, crumbs falling as he spoke.

“Thanks,” she smiled, while the boys giggled behind her. How many times had she admonished them not to talk with their mouth full? And now, here was a full-grown male doing exactly that. No wonder they were amused.

“Boys,” she turned to them, pulling the serious look back onto her face, “You may go to the kitchen and get one cookie each.” The giggles faded as they raced off.

The man was reaching for the last cookie when she turned back.  “Cute boys,” he said, stuffing it into his mouth.

“They’re a handful,” she said shaking her head. “But usually they’re very sweet.” Just then they came scampering back, a cookie in each hand and one poking out of their mouths.  Lydia rolled her eyes, “See what I mean?” she said.

He snickered. “They have good taste.”

“So, did you get hold of Triple A?” she asked, recalling why he’d come in the first place.

“Yes, they’ll be here in a bit,” he said. “Thanks again, for everything.  I should probably go wait at the truck so I don’t miss them.”

“Wait a minute,” Lydia said, ducking back into the house, shooing the boys before her as she went.  She grabbed a plastic bag, scooped several more cookies into it, and zipped the top shut before hurrying back outside.  Holding it out, she said, “Take these. You’ll save me from dealing with too much sugar detox later,” she said jerking a thumb toward the miscreants still gaping at them behind the screen door.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling as he made his way down the steps. “Help and free cookies, it almost makes me want to break down more often.” She watched him for a moment, and then turned to enter the house, careful to bolt both doors behind her.

The boys looked owlishly up at her.  “Who was he, Mommy? Was that Daddy?” Tommy asked.

She shook her head sadly. “No baby, his car just broke down and he needed some help.” She patted him on the head consolingly. “Daddy’s gone, sweetie, and he’s not coming back.” Both boys hugged her around the legs, helping to ease the tight knot that had settled in her stomach when she thought about the past. 

* * *

Thanks for reading! You can read the rest of Christmas Miracle here: Part II, Part III. Leave me a comment and tell me what you think!

Geek Chic

I've always been a geek.  In high school I felt at home with the drama/choir crowd, was scarily knowledgeable about musical theater, and burned through books like they were going out of style. Later, my wacky sense of humor, bizarre tastes, and growing lack of concern about what other people thought only made matters worse. It started with shows like Psych, Monk, Bones, and NCIS. Then, I discovered Glee, Harry Potter, and The Pirates of the Caribbean. I was just getting warmed up when I found the BBC and fell in love with Doctor Who, Downton Abbey, Merlin, Robin Hood, and Sherlock. By that time I was completely enamored with the entire Marvel Universe and fully addicted to Netflix. It was too late to hide my fanaticism. My bookshelves, DVD collection, and crazy tee-shirts plainly declared my mania.

When I stumbled into the online fandoms and acquired a new vocabulary (fangirling, shipping, canon, etc.) I felt like I'd found the mother ship. And it turns out I can rock geek chic.

So, when I saw this title at Barnes and Noble, it was only a matter of time before I devoured it.  In Fangirl, Cath is embarking on the new and frightening world of college.  For a twin, it's a weird sensation to be delving into new experiences all on her own, so she pours all of her stresses, social anxieties, and pent up frustrations into her fanfiction. As well-followed fanfic writer Magicath, Cath's love for spinning new scenarios for her favorite characters and the magical world they inhabit opens the door for new friendships, life experiences, and, if she's lucky, romance.

Though this story may seem sweet and silly, Rainbow Rowell ties in plenty of reality to ground the tale. I enjoyed following Cath's journey from damaged girlhood to finding herself and learning what she is capable of.  A truly fun story, but word to the wise, Fangirl is a more mature read, featuring both adult themes and language.

However, for the clean read crew, let me introduce Geek Girl:

Jen Jones is a high school student who's been bounced from one foster home to another. Still suffering from the tragedies of her childhood, Jen has her eye on nothing more than the next party and the next high. Until Trevor catches her attention. A geek to the core, Trevor is the most attractive of his sci-fi obsessed posse. Jen bets her friends that she can turn him into a bad boy and is certain she'll succeed. But while coming to know him, like geek makeover flicks10 Things I Hate About You, She's All That, and Drive Me Crazy, she is more altered by the experience than he is.  Facing her past seems like the hardest thing Jen will ever have do until Trevor discovers her secret and she faces losing the geeky boy she's fallen in love with.

I thoroughly enjoyed this tale of self-discovery.  Like Jen, I am certainly a Geek Girl at heart. Enjoy, my friends!  Both of these books are full of wonderfully written characters, fun adventures, and geeky goodness.  Find them at Amazon:
Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell
Geek Girl by Cindy C. Bennett

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For more of my fangirl mania, check out Fanfiction & Fairtales, Embracing the Fangirl Within, The Con, and Embrace the Geek by fellow Geek Girl Raylynn. Thanks for stopping by!

Ann-with-an-E

About the time I hit middle school, my aunt and cousin gifted me with a thick volume. Beyond school assignments--most of which I can't remember--that was the first time someone handed me a book and told me I absolutely had to read it. Of course, the story I wanted to read most (Anne of the Island) wasn't included in the volume, but I've always been a stickler for doing things in the right way. So, I started at the beginning and made the acquaintance of Anne of Green Gables.

Something in this young girl--a short-tempered orphan who overuses big words and bumbles through life trying to find her place--resonated with me. While other girls were looking for grand romantic gestures, I daydreamed of a comradely friendship that would grow into love. Gilbert Blythe became my first book boyfriend. I've probably reread Anne of the Island twenty times and Anne's Book of Revelations twice that many times. No matter how I have changed over the years, L.M. Montgomery's series has always brought me comfort and hope.

Admittedly, it's probably Lucy Maud Montgomery's writing style that moves me as much as anything. She has a flare for blending humor and reality with dreamland. If there's ever a writer I'd like to meet, it would be her. 

Maud lost her mother to tuberculosis when she was still an infant and was left in the care of her grandparents. Her lonely childhood fueled her creative mind because, like Anne, she conjured up friends and imaginary worlds for company. After receiving her education, Maud worked as a teacher and wrote, wrote, wrote. Over the course of her career, she published 20 novels, 500 short stories, a book of poetry, and an autobiography.  Anne of Green Gables was the first book she published. In my opinion, she poured much of herself and her experiences in life and love into Anne.

Why do I love Anne and Maud so dearly? These women faced challenges, succeeded and failed, rallied and tried again, loved and lost, and kept going. We all need heroes (fictional and otherwise) to look up to and these two women are mine. If you have yet to be acquainted with either of them, take my recommendation and learn more now. And yes, do feel free to read Anne of the Island first.

My only question is where is my Gilbert? As my first book boyfriend, Gilbert holds the place of honor in my heart and has yet to be uprooted. He's wriggled his way into many of my stories (watch for his kindness, humor, and friendliness in a certain Becoming Beauty character) and even though his real-life counterpart has yet to make an appearance, my next hero-in-the-making, based on Rumpelstiltskin, is a mischievous tailor named Gil. A girl never forgets her first love.

To learn more about Ann, Gilbert, or Lucy Maud Montgomery, please head over to Goodreads or Wikipedia. The Anne books are available for free on Goodreads or for 99 cents for the entire series (and three bonus books) download it on Amazon Kindle.  You could start them today!

Want other recommendations? Try Where Life Takes You, Persuaded, Pass The Pepper, Tragically Flawed...Or Not, or Hope Grows In A...

Tragically Flawed...or Not

Crafting the perfect female heroine isn't easy. She can't be all I WILL conquer the world and mow down any who stand in my way! or OMG! I broke a nail! Lovable, relatable, and readable characters must be a healthy mixture of girly and fierce, strong and weak.

At my first writing conference, LDS Storymakers (that's right, I am the exuberant newbie!), I attended a phenomenal class by author Sara B. Larson called Kicking Butt & Kissing Boys: All in a Day's Work. Since her advice on crafting a heroine is so fantastic, here are some of the highlights of her presentation (with side-notes from yours truly):

1. Showcase inner strength as well as overt awesomeness:

When we talk about strong heroines in young adult fiction, let's celebrate the quieter strength of realistic characters as well as the dramatic, death-defying strength of sci-fi, action/adventure, and fantasy heroines. Strength is more than physical prowess or fighting skills. There's no universal way of being "strong," and a character's weaknesses are often what allows a reader to relate to him or her. 

The Hub, YALSA

2. Instill human weaknesses as well as strengths:

Seeing characters with flaws is at once endearing and reassuring. Humans are flawed, and characters should be too--it helps us as readers feel more comfortable in our flaws when we see a character we love do something we'd deem foolish or petty or dumb, because then we can say, "Look! That character did this and we still love them."  If we can accept characters, flaws and all, it helps us accept our own flaws easier. That is what makes me love YA heroes so much--when they have that perfect balance of human flaws and fierce strengths.

Sara Raasch, Snow Like Ashes

3. Characters' minor, major, and tragic flaws and how they overcome or succumb to them is the heart of the story:

In my opinion, strong heroines are dynamic: they struggle, and through those struggles, they change. They are agents of action, rather than passive or reactive. Female characters can fall in love and still be strong. They can be bold or reserved. They can be feminine or they can be tomboys. There is no way of being strong, just as there is no way to be a girl. When we talk about what it means to be a strong heroine in young adult fiction, let's make room for all the ways girls to exhibit their strength.

The Hub, YALSA

4. Stop trying to make women and girls into men and boys. A girl can take down the bad guy, save humanity, snag a prince, overcome her inner demons, and still get her nails done:

I like to show strong female characters who are also proud to be female. They like to wear dresses; they have a fondness for jewelry. [Another aspect is] not rejecting other women or women's roles.

Tamora Pierce, Fantasy Author 

Rather than perpetuating misconceptions about the meaning of womanhood, we must stand together as readers, writers, and above all as women, and search out, create, and support the best female role models available.
Here's a place to start:

If you'd like to learn more about Sara B. Larson, follow the link to her website and check out her amazing book Defy on Amazon. (It's already beckoning eagerly from my shelf, so I'll report back when I have a minute to delve into it!)

Or, for a refresher course on my take on flawed heroines and fostering your girliness, revisit A Beastly Beauty and Fairytales & Fancy Footwear.

And, join me next year at LDS Storymakers 2015 It's a wonderful writer community waiting to welcome you with open arms!

Arguing With Myself

Working with quirky characters can be a challenge.  You never know who's going to bully you into writing an extra scene, or sending the storyline in an entirely different direction to accommodate their antics. Imagine trying to do this with a dozen sisters, a pair of smitten gardeners, various self-important noblemen, and a bevy of opinionated servants, and you'll get a picture of the conundrum I face every time I sit down to tap out a new scene.

I think I've finally gotten my willful characters under control.  The girls--all twelve of them--have been informed that they will each get their moment to shine, if they will kindly refrain from talking at the same time. They've agreed to these terms.  However, they insist on being introduced, at least as a group.  Jonas, the elder of the aforementioned deep-in-smit gardeners, will do the honors.

Imagine a scene along the lines of the following...without the entire cast of Downton arranged around Highclere Castle, of course.

* * * * *

               Scratching at the day’s growth of beard I hadn’t had time to shave, I attacked a particularly determined root with the shovel.  It was a puny thing, no thicker than a twig, but twisted into the soil as it was, it cost me a good five minutes.  Pausing to swab the sweat from my brow, I leaned on the handle of the spade and glanced around at the other men hard at work.  The grounds, a grand expanse of trimmed lawn interspersed with flowering beds, artfully shaped shrubbery, and a curving cobbled path, stretched from the big house all the way to the edge of the forest.  Most of the men were bent over their tasks, industrious as always.  The only exception was the fellow nearby with the wide-eyed expression of a trout.  Muttering incoherently, he was engaged in uselessly stabbed the ground with a hoe.  I rolled my eyes.   I’d lost track of the number of times I’d lectured him on the proper use of gardening tools.  With Lumis, once was never enough, or in this case, a score of times wasn’t enough.  I asked myself, not for the first time, why it must be my responsibility to look after him. 

                A strange hush fell over the men, even Lumis’ mumbled curses ceased as he glanced toward the house.  Guessing what it was before I looked up, my breath caught in my throat the way it always did.  My chest felt tight when I lifted my gaze. 

                In all the colors of the rainbow, they poured out of the main building, as graceful as butterflies drifting over the manicured lawns and blossoming beds.  The flowers, even in full bloom, paled beside their beauty. With delicate fingers they lifted their skirts and skimmed over the grounds, their tinkling voices and gentle laughter as musical as their footsteps were light.  Every one of the twelve—from the youngest, in her early teens, to the eldest, in her late twenties—kept her eyes averted from the workers.  They were adept at this, as we too should have been.  After all, it was the cardinal rule of the household, the one that even the lowliest stable boy knew by heart: Thou shalt not meddle with the Master’s daughters.  On pain of death.  

                 Or was it dismemberment?  Either way, it was serious. 

                Yet, like the other men, I could never resist looking up, just in case I caught her eye.  Amidst so many beautiful women, she should have been difficult to pick out, but I always located her in the first second. I heard her, even as I saw her, arm in arm with her favorite sister, their heads together as if confiding the deepest of secrets. Her voice was low and amber-hued, rich and captivating.

                The handle of a rake smashed into my ribs and I bit back a cry, treating the individual beside me to a venomous look.  Gregor, holding the rake in question and not looking at all remorseful, hissed out, “Do you have a death wish, Jonas?  Close your mouth and get back to work!” 

* * * * *  

(Excerpt from Twelve, by Sarah E. Boucher, all rights reserved.)