Bethany Turner's Blog: See Bethany Write

THIS HUNT IS NOT YET LIVE. WE’RE STILL WORKING OUT OUR LINKS. WE GO LIVE AT NOON (MST) on 3/18. PLEASE RETURN AFTER THAT!

Welcome to the Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt! If you’ve just discovered the hunt, be sure to start at Stop #1 and collect the clues through all the stops, in order, so you can enter to win one of our top 5 grand prizes!

The hunt BEGINS on 3/18 at noon MST with Stop #1 at LisaTawnBergren.com.Hunt through our loop using Chrome or Firefox as your browser (not Explorer).There is NO RUSH to complete the hunt–you have all weekend (until Sunday, 3/21 at midnight MST)! So take your time, reading the unique posts along the way; our hope is that you discover new authors/new books and learn new things about them.Submit your entry for the grand prizes by collecting the CLUE on each author’s scavenger hunt post and submitting your answer in the Rafflecopter form at the final stop, back on Lisa’s site. Many authors are offering additional prizes along the way!

In case we haven’t met, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Bethany Turner, and I write romantic comedies full of pop culture references, laugh-out-loud moments, swoony kisses, complicated heroes and heroines, and usually a Colin Firth or George Clooney reference or two. I love connecting with readers, and am always seeking new ways to form community. Along those lines, did you know you can text me at (970) 387-7811? Seriously…send me a text! And be sure to connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, and through my email newsletter so we can keep getting to know each other better. Now, speaking of those George Clooney references…let me tell you a little bit about my upcoming summer release from HarperCollins/Thomas Nelson called Plot Twist:

February 4, 2003 is just another day for Olivia Ross—a greeting card writer whose passion project is a screenplay of her own. After she and a handsome, struggling actor have a near-magic encounter in a coffee shop, they make a spontaneous pact: in ten years, after they’ve found the success they’re just sure they’re going to achieve, they’ll return to the coffeehouse to partner up and make a film together. The only problem? Olivia neglected to get the stranger’s name. But she doesn’t forget the date. For the next ten years, every February 4, Olivia has an exceptional day, full of coincidences and ironies. But a lot can happen in ten years, and while waiting for the curtain to rise on her fate, the true story of Olivia’s life is being written—and if she’s not careful, she’ll completely miss the epic romance playing out right before her eyes.

I’m really excited to introduce you to these characters and this story. The fact is, there are some similarities that played out between the ten years of Olivia Ross’s story and the last ten years of my story. Oh…not the encounter with an actor in a coffee shop and not the flirty interaction with George Clooney at a charity gala (I’m telling you…I’m serious about those Clooney mentions!), but certainly the way ten years can play out in a way you would never expect.

I actually wrote Plot Twist nearly ten years ago, and it covered the previous ten years from the date of that first draft. That means that in 2021, I’m releasing a book that takes place from 2003 until 2013. And while it is certainly still a contemporary romance, there are aspects of it that made me feel a bit like I was writing a historical! A few examples:

3 “Historical” Details in Plot TwistGEORGE CLOONEY I know I’m hitting hard on the Clooney references right now, but please indulge me in one more. In the timeline of Plot Twist, George Clooney wasn’t just a bachelor…he was the bachelor. The only things certain in life were death, taxes, and George Clooney never settling down. Let’s just say the pre-Amal/pre-father-of-twins Clooney factors heavily into Olivia Ross’s story!CELL PHONES Think about it: In 2003 we were using Skype and calling cards to make international calls. Most people had a cell phone, but not everyone had a smart phone. We were still using maps instead of GPS, we didn’t have unlimited texting plans, and we were only beginning to harness the power of the internet at our fingertips.CARS AND FASHION AND MOVIES, OH MY! What were people driving, wearing, and listening to in 2003? Oh, you may be thinking, “That wasn’t all that long ago. Not much has changed.” Sure. Except people were driving PT Cruisers, men were wearing fedoras, and we were still going to the theater for new Matrix and Lord of the Rings movies. So there’s that.Here are the Stop #5 Basics:

If you’re interested, you can pre-order Plot Twist on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, CBD, Bookshop.org, or anywhere books are sold!

CLUE TO WRITE DOWN: welcome

Link to Stop #6, the Next Stop on the Loop: Jill Eileen Smith’s site!

Click Here to Go to Stop #6!

But wait! Before you go, I’m offering some additional prizes! By simply subscribing to my email newsletter, you will gain two entries to win a signed copy of of whichever of my previous books you would like (The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck, Wooing Cadie McCaffrey, or Hadley Beckett’s Next Dish) as well as some book swag — like bookmarks, a pen, a coaster, and a magnet! And there are ways to get additional entries by doing things like following me on social media or texting me. The Rafflecopter is below!
{Signed copy and other prizes are for USA entrants only, but international winners will be sent a paperback from BookDepository.com.}

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You guys…this book news feels like it’s been a long time coming. And while it may not be the biggest announcement I’ve ever made, it really means more to me than I know how to express.

Way back in 2015 I signed my first publishing contract with Revell/Baker Publishing Group for a manuscript that, at that time, was called Middle Ground. It was the story of a recently divorced woman named Sarah Hollenbeck who, once no longer living in the shadow of her extremely successful, philandering husband, had no idea who she was. She figured it all out on the page…with disarming honesty, lots of sarcasm, extreme vulnerability, and enough pop culture references to fill up an E!: True Hollywood Story marathon. And then she started falling in love with her widowed, single-father pastor, and things really got interesting.

Sharing The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck, as it was eventually called, with readers has been one of the great treasures of this writing journey for me. But I always felt like the journey wasn’t complete. I’ve always believed that, eventually, I wanted to hear this character share her story with us. For whatever reason, an audiobook just never came together…until now.

I’m so excited to announce that HarperCollins/Thomas Nelson recently acquired the rights to produce an audiobook version of The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck. For me, it feels like getting to visit old friends. Sarah Hollenbeck, Ben Delaney, Piper Lanier…I’ve really missed them. And I can’t wait to hear them come alive in a whole new way!

2018 Christy Finalist
Contemporary Romance

I’ve been in a rut since March. Actually, allow me to clarify. I have been in about fifty different kinds of ruts since March. Even down to what I’m doing for entertainment. For the most part, I have only watched movies that I’ve already seen countless times. My go-to TV series has been Friends. And I just finished listening to the Harry Potter series on audiobook. (Granted, this was my first time through the audiobooks, but the combined number of times I have read the books and watched the movies certainly negate any “something new and different” points I could hope to win.)

A few weeks ago I decided it was time to climb out of this particular rut and actually absorb something new, so I began watching the HBO series The Newsroom. It only took about five minutes of the first episode for me to realize that even in trying something new, I was playing it pretty safe. As someone to whom The West Wing was appointment viewing each and every week back in the day, who studied A Few Good Men as a theatre major in college, who has obsessed over every nuance of The America President and Moneyball, who unwittingly-at-the-time based the sports network dynamic of one of her novels on Sports Night, who actually refused to watch 30 Rock for years out of loyalty to the ill-fated Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, and who travelled from Colorado to New York to see the Aaron Sorkin adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird on Broadway…you could say I’m a bit of an Aaron Sorkin devotee. I knew I would love The Newsroom. And I did. All in all, it was a safe way to branch out to something new.

Safe because, well…Aaron Sorkin tends to be a bit repetitive.

Even acknowledging that publicly feels like a betrayal, because I really do love me some Sorkin—but even in acknowledging that he tends to be a bit repetitive, I realize that “a bit repetitive” might be an understatement. (Here’s a video of “Sorkinisms” if you want a few minutes of proof/entertainment, but be warned: you will never watch anything written by Aaron Sorkin the same way again.) There are so many common threads across everything he writes. Characters, patterns, backstory, dialogue. In many ways, if you’ve seen one Sorkin, you’ve seen them all. That doesn’t change the fact that, in my opinion, each and every one of them is worth seeing. That’s a strange dichotomy, but I stand behind it 100%.

Take, for instance, the title “What Kind of Day Has It Been.” That has been the title of no fewer than four Aaron Sorkin-penned television episodes. The West Wing, Sports Night, and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip all wrapped up their first seasons with an episode with that title, and it was the title of the series finale of The Newsroom. Mr. Sorkin finds something he likes and then he isn’t afraid to use it again. You can call it a rut, if you want to, I don’t really see it that way. Not this. (On the other hand, his continual use of the phrase “not for nothin’” is still up for debate.) You see, there’s always an answer when Aaron Sorkin asks of his television series “What kind of day has it been?” Getting to that answer is the point of the episode. Possibly the point of the season. Sometimes of the entire series. The answer may not be simple, and it may vary from character to character; from moment to moment. But Sorkin is always going to answer the question for us.

I like knowing what I’m going to get from Aaron Sorkin’s writing, while enjoying the fact that I don’t know exactly how I’m going to receive what I’ve been promised. I would liken it to knowing your boyfriend is preparing to propose, but having no idea how he’s actually going to do it. You go to a baseball game and half-expect to see “Will you marry me?” on the scoreboard, or you take a walk on the beach at sunset with certainty there is a ring in the pocket of his shorts—but then you’re taken completely off-guard when he gets down on one knee at the grocery store or during a family badminton game.

This has all been a really long lead-up to say I’ve been in a rut, and for quite a while I didn’t even feel any motivation to climb out of it. I feel as if I have aged ten years in the past four months. (Can anyone else identify with that?) I’m not sure when to speak and not sure when to stay silent—not about race relations or politics or “to face-mask or not to face-mask”…but about everything. About life. About myself. About things that matter and things that don’t. About books I’m writing and characters I’m creating. About how I’m feeling. And when in doubt, it’s easier to stay silent and watch (for the 10,000th time) the two-part episode in which Chandler and Monica get engaged. (Side note: I was #TeamChandler, all the way, but does anyone else out there wish they still could have found a reason to keep Tom Selleck’s Richard around? He and Phoebe would have been adorable together! #MissedOpportunites) I teeter back and forth between confident and insecure. Inspired and tapped dry. A lot of the time I’m just really sad, but then I feel guilty about being sad…because really, I don’t have any reason to be.

My latest book launched on May 5th, in the midst of a Shelter in Place order, and I—like pretty much everyone else on the planet—had to adapt on the fly. Trips were cancelled. Shippings were delayed. Schedules were changed. Marketing plans were adjusted. Book sales went down. And of course planned, in-person signings at bookstores? Yeah…I don’t think so. I wasn’t the only one having to deal with those things, of course, and it goes without saying that countless people had it so much worse than I did. Truth be told, I’m usually pretty good at adapting. I can make a mean lemonade out of the lemons life hands me when I really need to. And for a while, the lemonade was being served in abundance. And then I seemed to hit a wall.

Over the course of the past few months, I’ve had a difficult time being the Bethany Turner people expect me to be. On social media, in my writing, at work, with my friends and family…you name it. And Satan has used that against me. Not the inability to be the Bethany Turner people expect me to be so much as the realization that the expectation exists. Even if the expectation exists mostly inside my own head. Because, really, it’s not about other people’s expectations at all. It’s about the expectations I burden myself with. Expectations that have always motivated and pushed me, but which took an unexpected turn in recent days. And on top of all of that, the truth is I’m tired. No…I’m more than tired. I’m completely exhausted. I’m depleted, and history’s greatest power nap wouldn’t even put a dent in the level of fatigue I’m feeling.

Again…maybe you can relate.

I find myself asking, “What kind of day has it been?” and truthfully, I’m not sure. Aaron Sorkin isn’t writing the script of my life. (Good thing, probably. I don’t have the energy for all the walk-and-talks.) But I do believe that the point of this episode—the point of this season—is, at least partially, to figure it out. Sorkin wouldn’t have asked the question so many times if it wasn’t a question worth asking, right? I believe it will be worth trudging through the pages of dialogue, sitting through the commercial break, and maybe even hanging in until next season to get the answer.

And that’s not for nothin’.

I’ve decided to start referring to the current reality of time and appointments and routine (or the lack thereof, in many cases) as the Etch-a-Schedule. You know…like an Etch-a-Sketch. In the days before self-isolation and sheltering in place, we had plans. Do you remember those plans? Did you happen to take a picture of them before they got held up in the air and vigorously shaken?

Did you feel frustration or relief at holding a blank Etch-a-Schedule in your hands? If you’re like me, maybe a guilt-laced, bewildering combination of the two?

The truth is, there was a lot of excitement coursing through me in those first few days. There was more to do than ever, but the old ways weren’t going to work anymore. It was if suddenly I had to wrap my thumbs and forefingers around those two little knobs at the bottom of the screen and draw something magnificent and complex. Like, the Mona Lisa or something. When before all I’d ever known how to draw were 2D Mayan temples.

(For the record, that really is pretty much all I could draw on an Etch-a-Sketch as a child. Up and to the right. Up and to the right. Up and to the right. Straight across. Down and to the right… I wish I’d thought to at least call them 2D Mayan temples at the time. That might have been more impressive-sounding than, “Look! Lines!”)

I don’t know about you, but for me whatever level of strange excitement those early days of social distancing life held has pretty much worn off. But I’m really not all that frustrated anymore, either. I’m settling in, truthfully. I’m settling in to something I have no desire to settle in to. But I also have no desire to go back to 2D Mayan temples. I’ve actually gotten pretty good at drawing the Mona Lisa. Wouldn’t going back be a little bit like asking Leonardo da Vinci to follow up the Mona Lisa with paper dolls? (Yes, I am Leonardo da Vinci in this analogy. Start your own blog and then youcan be the one with delusions of grandeur and an over-inflated sense of self. Everyone should try it. It’s fun!)

Whatever we had scheduled before? Gone.

Flights reserved and hotels booked? Cancelled.

Regular weekly meetings? Restructured.

And soon…when, no one knows, but soon…our Etch-a-Schedules are going to be held up in the air, shaken vigorously, and handed back to us once again. The Mona Lisa will be gone. What’s more, the Mona Lisa won’t quite fit the situation anymore. But 2D Mayan temples will be as archaic and incongruous as finding Clorox wipes in a grocery store. (I mean, can you even imagine?! How antiquated.)

There’s going to be so much to figure out, but all I know for sure is that we can’t afford to lose the knowledge we pick up along the way through all of this. The gift of time, the blessing of perspective, the curse of fear, the realization of just how extraordinary the ordinary can be…

We can’t allow ourselves to forget the lessons learned, whatever they are. They’ll change us. We have to allow them to change us.

After all…we now know how to draw the Mona Lisa. Just imagine what we might do next.

The world has been a lot lately.

I live in a small town in Colorado, and so far we are relatively unaffected by Coronavirus mania. I mean, the kids are out of school for two weeks and all community activities have been cancelled, and of course there is no toilet paper to be found, but still…compared to much of the world, we’re relatively unaffected so far. When things like this happen (not that “things like this” happen very often), I tend to focus on things that may seem unimportant to some. You know…pop culture. Celebrities. Politely irreverent jokes.

Is it a defense mechanism? I don’t know. Maybe. All I know for sure is that if Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson don’t make a full recovery and get back to the States pretty soon, COVID-19 and I are gonna have a chat. (Also, I’m legitimately sad that the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament is cancelled. You know the song from the 1960s that goes, “I don’t care what they say, I won’t stay in a world without love”? Well, for a couple of days there that song was running on constant loop in my head, but replace “love” with “March Madness.”)

But in the midst of my polite irreverence, I experienced one of the most profound epiphanies of my life.

Sometimes when I have a difficult time turning my brain off at night, I listen to the Abide app. It’s Christ-centered meditation, basically. To tell you the truth, I don’t really do it properly. I don’t focus on the things they tell me to focus on, and I’m usually not paying enough attention to know when I’m supposed to breathe in or breathe out. But still…it relaxes me.

The other night I was listening (sort of) and beginning to fall asleep. I was in that state somewhere between daydreaming and regular dreaming, and suddenly I saw Jesus. I think that maybe the app was telling me to give all of my cares to Jesus, but I can’t be completely sure. (Again, I don’t really pay attention. But it’s usually a pretty safe bet that the app, quite wisely, is trying to get you to relax by giving all your cares to Jesus. So we’re going with that.) But when I saw Jesus in my mind, I saw him differently than I’d ever seen him before.

We should pause briefly so I can confess to you that my physical view of Jesus is 100% based on how he’s been portrayed in movies. I assure you my overall relationship with him goes much deeper than that, but how he looks? Yeah…in my mind he looks like the guy from The Bible miniseries, with a little bit of Jim Caviezel thrown in. (He probably doesn’t look like that. I get it. But it works for me. Don’t judge.)

So anyway, there was Hollywood Jesus in front of me in my mind, and I was handing him all of my concerns. Stick with me. Nothing about that was extremely profound, but we’re getting there. I just kept handing him thing after thing after thing, and he kept taking everything. The profound part is that he was smirking at me.

Yes, Jesus was smirking at me.

Now, I know that there can be negative connotation associated with smirking. Like the person smirking is smug or rude. That was not the case at all. The smirk actually looked a whole lot like this…

[image error]And no, before you ask…in my mind, Jesus did not look like Zac Efron. (Well, okay…not that far off. But that’s not the point.) Nothing about this photo of Zac Efron has anything to do with my profound epiphany, apart from the smirk. The look on Zac’s face does not communicate smugness or rudeness. (Bear with me here. I realize Zac was smiling for the press. It’s the best example I could find!)

When it was Jesus who was smirking at me, and not Zac Efron, I knew exactly what the smirk meant. He was watching me give my burdens to him and he was willingly accepting my cares and worries, but he also knew I was holding back. He knew there were some scary things I was trying to hold on to. He knew I didn’t even want to admit that some of the things were bothering me. I certainly didn’t want to admit that they were too heavy for me to carry by myself.

Jesus knows me so well that he smirked at me, as if to say, “Seriously, Bethany? Who do you think you’re fooling?”

He smirked at me until I smiled, and then he held his hands out and curled his fingers in the universally accepted hand gesture for “C’mon…let’s have it. All of it.” (That same gesture can sometimes mean, “Come at me. We’re about to have a knife fight.” But that’s usually just in West Side Story. This wasn’t that.)

Jesus wants all of it, and he’s not scared of any of it. He knows when I’m holding back, and he knows exactly why. And he knows me well enough that we’re on smirking terms. With just a look, he was able to call me out on all my insecurity and all my self-dependence. My pride, my pain, my fear.

Maybe in your mind, Jesus doesn’t smirk at you. Maybe he doesn’t look like Zac Efron or Jim Caviezel or miniseries guy. (Kudos to you for your non-pop-culture-addled brain. Aren’t you special.) But everything that was profound in that image for me is just as profound and true for you…no matter what he looks like. He wants it all. And no matter how scared and uncertain things are in our world right now, I promise you Jesus is making some version of that “C’mon…let’s have it” gesture for each of us.

I don’t know about you, but when I look back on the past year, well…it exhausts me more than anything else. Amazing things happened in 2019 and I can’t necessarily point to any great personal tragedies, and yet I find myself hoping, wishing, planning, and praying for a better 2020. 

Truthfully, the battles waged in my life in 2019 were all pretty much happening within my mind. It was a year in which I questioned my calling, evaluated my worth, and generally doubted myself at every turn. Despite the fact that life is actually really good. My family is healthy, my marriage is strong, my sons are proving to be remarkable young men, I have amazing friendships, my “day job” in full-time church ministry is going strong, and I released one book I love and wrote another. I’m blessed! And yet…I doubt. I question. I evaluate. And I hope, wish, plan, and pray for better.

How about you? Can you identify with my personal take on 2019?

I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions, as such. In my experience, I’m no more likely to exercise regularly/eat healthier/save money/whatever on January 1st than I was on December 31st. But that hasn’t stopped me from taking small, intentional steps toward starting 2020 off right. I want to manage my time better. I want to make the most of whatever time I have to do whatever thing I need to be doing. I want to, more than ever before, keep Jesus at the center of it all. I do want to eat healthier, exercise (semi-) regularly, and manage my money better. But, you know what? Those are all things I plan to do every year. Some years I succeed more than others. 

What I really want to be different about 2020 is how boldly I live my life. I want to dream big and work hard to put those dreams into action. I want to stop doubting myself so much. Truthfully, I want to stop thinking about myself so much, across the board. I want to do more for others. I want to do more than just meet people. I want to connect with them. I want people to smile when they see me coming, because they know I won’t be dumping stress and angst and self-doubt at their feet, because stress, angst, and self-doubt won’t be part of who I am. Publicly or privately.

We’ve all heard it said that hindsight is 20/20, but sitting here on December 28th, looking back on 2019, all I can think about is how much time and energy I wasted, trying to squint the year into focus. I don’t want that to be the case next year. I don’t want to waste all that time and energy. I want to approach the year with laser focus, from the very beginning, and not have to wait for hindsight to kick in. 

It’s 2020. It should be perfectly clear from day one.

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So here’s the honest-to-goodness truth…

When I first pitched my editor the idea for Hadley Beckett’s Next Dish, I was unbelievably excited about the project. There were dreams of a hunky, brilliant chef with a temper, trying to salvage his reputation. There were visions of a sweet and innovative Southern pastry chef fighting tooth and nail to maintain her dignity and kindness. And there was so much anticipation for the romantic scenes in the kitchen! (Because #cookingandkissing is the best.)

And then I wrote the thing.

Let me tell you…God and I wrestled over this one and, truth be told, I hated almost every minute of creating the first draft. I knew the story wasn’t shaping up the way I had dreamed, and I was sad to discover I found no joy in writing, for the first time I can remember.

And then my editor read what I had written.

Now, if you’re thinking this is the part of the story where my editor saw the magic that existed in the story and reassured me that I was actually a decent writer, and that the manuscript just needed a little polish to become the masterpiece we had envisioned from the beginning, well…no. Not exactly. Not at all, really. I was given two-and-a-half weeks to do a complete rewrite. And I’m not using the word “rewrite” loosely. I literally had to rewrite the book. Characters, situations, romance, fights…even one character’s POV. 

It. Was. Horrifying.

But it was also exciting. And, in a strange way, it was also reassuring to find out my editor thought it was bad in all the same ways I had known it was bad. That told me I hadn’t completely lost touch. I had just not been able to get things on the page the way I knew they needed to be. But I had a second chance (and a very scary, tight deadline) to make it happen. 

So…I rewrote the thing.

And the second time, God and I didn’t wrestle. We’d already done that. He’d already won. Between His guidance and my editor’s, I finally understood exactly what the story needed to be. Funnier. Sexier. More relatable. More painful. More hopeful. And did I mention sexier? For two-and-a-half weeks, I wrote. Apart from family, church, and work, I did nothing else. (And I even took a little time away from family, church, and work.) 

And then I turned the new book into my editor.

It had not only become the book I dreamed it would be, back in the very beginning, it had become the book she had dreamed it would be, too. Oh…it wasn’t perfect. I had a round of edits with her after that (and had about a week-and-a-half until that deadline) and had to write a couple new chapters. Easy peasy, right? I mean, I finally knew what I was doing. I finally understood this story. I loved these characters and wanted to spend more time with them…so no problem!

Except I AM SUCH AN ISRAELITE SOMETIMES!!

Do you know what I mean? I never understand why the Israelites continued to question God, time after time after time. After He freed them from the Egyptians. After He parted the Red Sea. After plagues and Passover. After He delivered manna to their doorstep each day, with more efficiency than Amazon Prime has ever dreamed of. And still, the minute the going got tough, they started building idols and whining about how much easier life was when they were slaves. I don’t understand that. And yet I do the same thing. Time after time after time. 

I sent my editor panicked texts, warning her that I had ruined the book.

I talked to my agent and basically begged her to assure me my career wasn’t over. 

But God had not left me (of course). In fact, He showed Himself in the biggest, most impactful way by giving me new words that, as it turned out, were the perfect, complete answers to earlier questions that I didn’t even know had been asked. 

You guys...I love this book, and I hope you will, too. The sweet and innovative Southern pastry chef is more strong and complex than I’d ever envisioned. The romantic scenes in the kitchen (and other places, too!) will not disappoint. (At least…I like them!) And the hunky, brilliant chef with a temper? He surpassed my wildest dreams and managed to becomemy favorite hero I have written. I can’t wait for you to meet Hadley and Max. And I can’t wait to tell all the stories of how God was faithful and present through it all, and how this difficult, frustrating, heartbreaking process shaped into a book I love more than I had ever imagined was possible.

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Here it is! The cover of Hadley Beckett’s Next Dish!

Now…it isn’t completely final. For one thing, that Publishers Weekly quote at the top is just a placeholder for an author endorsement. But it’s not going to change too much. So what do you think? I just think Gayle Raymer (Art Director at Revell/Baker Publishing Group) and her team do such an amazing job of creating covers that capture the tone, heart, and nuances of a story. I’m so grateful for that!

With this cover, I particularly love the antagonistic rolling pin and knife!

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This is a photo taken of me on July 19, 2019, at the precise moment I turned 40. I look relatively okay with it all, don’t I? I look relatively well-adjusted. I think it’s reasonable to assume you could look at that photo and say, “This is a woman who is ready to dive headfirst into her forties with a confidence which comes from knowing her best years are ahead of her.” (If you actually make analytical comments like that when looking at photos of other people, please stop. It’s creepy.)

Photos are sometimes horrible liars.

The truth is, 40 hit me hard. Now, a week out, I’m beginning to come to terms with it. I’m certainly not to the point of embracing it yet, but I have at least acknowledged within myself that there is nothing I can really do about it. And you may be saying to yourself, “It’s taken her a week to realize and acknowledge that there is nothing she can do about it?” (Again: creepy.) I mean, of course I knew that. But I was also still living in a bit of denial and with a whole lot of resistance.

I don’t know why, exactly. I’m not one who usually gets caught up in the numbers and such. When I turned 35 I was convinced it was the last age at which I would actually have to be concerned with the number. (Because I was finally qualified to be elected President, of course.) I remember thinking then that from then on out I just got to live life. (With a brief, minor milestone due to occur in two years, in anticipation of To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday movie references…) Sure, I wouldn’t get to enjoy some of the fun celebrations that came with those milestone birthdays, but there was also a genuine satisfaction in knowing that the rest of my life–the majority of my life–was going to be an uninterrupted block of time during which I could accomplish…everything.

I’m not sure what changed in the course of the last five years.

As I approached 40, I was full of dread. Actual, legitimate, irrational dread. I began to feel as if my best years were behind me–and I hadn’t even been elected President yet. (I’d had 5 years! How much more time would I waste?!) To tell you the truth, I began to spiral out of control somewhat.

Now, don’t get me wrong. My downward spiral was probably nothing nearly as dramatic as what you’re picturing. (Seriously, stop psychoanalyzing me, you creep!) I didn’t buy a convertible or run off to Europe to eat my way through my depression. I simply bought a new laptop and ran off to the midwestern United States to eat my way through my little birthday funk.

See? Totally different.

Truthfully, the biggest outward evidence of my funk was the fact that I have very nearly disappeared from social media. I mean, I’ve still been marketing my books. My career as an author depends in part, I figure, on my ability to market my books even when I’m a gloomy Gus. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to do much more than that. Readers have tagged me in their wonderful reviews and posts about my books, and as much as I treasure that, I haven’t been able to muster up the energy to reply. Friends have made comments that instantly made me think of inside jokes, but I’ve just silently smiled and made mental notes to reach out to them soon. So many people sent me birthday wishes, and it took all I had in me to piece together one general post of appreciation–despite the fact that I did, in fact, feel so appreciative.

The thing is, I don’t want to fake it. I refuse to fake it. If you read my books or follow me online, you may have a certain impression of my personality in your head. (I find this decidedly less creepy than the aforementioned analyzation.) I love romance. I love comedy. I have a pop culture reference for every situation. I’m generally happy, abundantly blessed, and I need social interaction. That’s my writing style and that’s my social media persona, but that’s also, more than anything, just me. What you see is what you get. Like it or not.

Here lately, for the first time, my social media persona and I have not been the same person. But like I said, I won’t fake it. So I sort of disappeared.

And yeah…I did run away from home for a little while. It was a trip that included multiple book events, fantastic visits with friends, meetings and brainstorming sessions with my amazing publishing team, treasured experiences and conversations with my sister and parents, the opportunity to meet with new author pals, one-on-one time with Galapagos tortoises, and an in-depth conversation with George Clooney’s mom. (I’m not even kidding. I’ll be sharing all about that trip very soon via my newsletter, so click HERE and make sure you’re subscribed! And if you’re not interested in the stories…DESPITE THE FACT THAT GEORGE CLOONEY’S MOM LITERALLY SANG “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” TO ME…at least subscribe for the giveaway I’ll be having, only for newsletter subscribers.)

The purpose of the trip was completely legitimate, and wasn’t actually all about hiding my feelings under the mountain of cheddar cheese that tops a Cincinnati-style coney. But the timing of the trip did reek, at least somewhat, of mid-life crisis. As I told my husband, I couldn’t imagine staying home and turning 40 in a way that would make the birthday just seem like every other day, or even every other birthday. In my heart of hearts, there was something powerful about the idea of doing something remarkable–not really to celebrate the birthday, but to remind myself that life itself is still, in spite of 40, quite remarkable.

Again, I’ll tell you all about that trip in my newsletter. It really was fantastic. But did it get me out of my funk? Yeah…I don’t know. Mostly, I think. At the very least it allowed me to refresh and recharge. But believe it or not, the most funk-shattering thing has been being back home. Not because anything has changed, but because I’m beginning to realize nothing has changed. That’s not the depressing realization I thought it would be. And that realization hasn’t been impactful to me just because it’s made me realize 40 is just a number. No…I knew that already.

It’s been impactful because God is moving in big and powerful ways in my life, and He’s making it abundantly clear each and every day that He’s still got a lot of work for me to do. There are people to reach–people to love–and there are stories to tell. There are barriers to break through, goals to accomplish, and dreaming yet to do. And when I’m sitting here in a funk, refusing to acknowledge all of that because it’s easier to throw a pity party, I’m just wasting time. Time that I now view as more valuable than ever before, because…40. I know that I’m going to blink again and my kids will be adults. One day I’m going to turn around and suddenly know that I have less time ahead of me than I do behind me. And I can’t allow myself to reach that point with regret.

So it may take be a little while to get caught up on social media–if I ever do. And I may not feel like it for a while…just in general. But there’s an excitement that comes from knowing I’m ready to get moving, whether I feel like it or not. There’s no other choice, really.

There’s just too much to do.

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I wasn’t sure I was going to survive.

Seriously. I’m not just being dramatic. I really wasn’t sure I was going to survive the writing of this last book. There I was, just about two weeks ago, still trying to create something. And I don’t just mean I was trying to create more romantic tension, or deeper POV, or engaging character development.

No…I was just trying to create something.

I had these two characters who had this one pretty intriguing first scene together, and then I was fairly certain everything that came after that scene was about as intriguing as an afternoon spent disinfecting the house after someone’s had the flu. I didn’t know these characters, I didn’t care about them, and I certainly wasn’t invested in whether or not they ever fell in love with each other. 

Trust me, people. These are not things a romance author should be feeling. 

But then fifteen days ago, something miraculous happened. My hero showed up. Seriously. Fifteen days ago. Never mind that I’ve been working on this story for nearly eight months. Never mind that I’d already written scenes and dialogue for him—dialogue with as much charm and romance as you feel when you’re disinfecting the house, after someone has the flu.

And never mind that my deadline is May 1st, and that was April 12th.

Max just took his sweet time showing me who he was, but once he did…wowsers! He’s fiery and passionate and brilliant, and sometimes he’s a total jerk. He uses people, he’s condescending, he’s especially demeaning to women, at times, but he’s also a bit of a ladies’ man. (Okay…not just a bit.) And the thing is, I already knew all of that. For eight months I’d known that. But finally, fifteen days ago, he revealed something new to me.

Max is human. 

Underneath the man with so many flaws is a little boy with big dreams and a desire to be loved. He’s tough and resilient. And maybe he’s never seemed to have a problem inflicting misery on people, but witnessing genuine pain? That reaches something deep inside of him. Something he hasn’t allowed anyone access to in far too long.

This book (which will be available in Spring 2020!) is unlike anything I’ve ever written. It was difficult to write, and there are parts of it that may be difficult to read. (It’s still a romantic comedy, so don’t worry…I’m counting on you laughing more than anything.) But I think it’s an important story to tell. How often do we write off someone based on their outer bravado? Maybe even based on their actions and how they treat people. And it’s easy to say, “Well, those people are causing pain and inflicting damage, and I can’t stand to be around that.” That’s valid. Trust me…I couldn’t stand to be around Max for a while there, and he’s fictional! But over the past fifteen days, as I’ve finally gotten to know Max, I’ve found myself thinking about how nice it would have been to get to know him sooner. (And not just because I might have been less stressed as I approached the deadline…) 

Max has a lot to offer. Max is charming and generous and downright chivalrous, actually…once you get to know him. He’s a lovely guy, and I’m glad I stuck it out.

This popped up in my FB memories today. Something I wrote four years ago this month. The manuscript that kept being rejected became The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck.

God brought me together with the right editor (I you, Kelsey Bowen!), the right publisher (I you, Revell!), and eventually the right agent (I you, Jessie Kirkland!).

It didn’t happen the way I thought it would. It didn’t happen in the usual way. God took the “normal” order of things and made a glorious mess of it all.

So if you’re still waiting for that first “Yes” or you’re thinking there’s only one way it can be done, or you’re just not sure if you can handle one more rejection…just keep your eyes on Him. Stay true to what He is telling you. And if you aren’t sure what it is that He wants you to do, don’t you think it’s time you ask? And then just keep on building.

January 25, 2015

I received the most wonderful, personal rejection today. Honestly, it was wonderful. And frustrating and depressing, of course, but that’s not the agent’s fault…

I was told that I am ahead of my time. My novel, she said, echoes the sentiment of many Christian women, and Christian fiction authors. “Unfortunately,” she wrote, “the Christian market hasn’t gotten there yet.” In the next paragraph (Yes…paragraph!) she wrote, “And I’m afraid it is too Christian for the general market publishers too.” She went on to say that she is sure there is a publisher out there willing to take a chance, but that she doesn’t believe she is the right agent to find them.

Fair, honest, thoughtful, encouraging, and discouraging all at the same time.
I told you. I told you that this is what I was going to run into. Why can’t I just write something which fits in the mold? Just once?

I’m okay with this rejection. In fact, I loved this rejection – despite the fact that the agent and her agency were high on my list of dream agents.

This is the rejection that I will look back on someday and say, “Well, yeah…that was the point.”

The point is that Christian readers are ready for this book. And you know what? I think that non-Christian readers are ready for it too.

“If you build it, they will come.”

So I’ll keep building. Right now I’m standing alone in my corn field, with everyone looking at me like I’m crazy.

But I’ve just got to keep on building.

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