To the Poppy

I thought you were dying. Your leaves had drooped, and the promising bud had turned yellow. I wanted to take a photo to remember you by, but the day got late.

And sometime during the night the miracle must’ve happened.

I see the fuzzy shells that dropped off to reveal your beauty. I study your delicate peach coloured petals, and yellow tipped stamens, and marvel at the life you add to my view. You’re perfect.

I know you won’t last. But I have hope now: 

There’s another bud.

//

And, seeing as this is the very last day of  2015, I wanted to thank you travelers for all the love and attention you give this little blog. It makes me feel overwhelmingly blessed, and I just want to give you all a hug. Seeing as technology hasn't made that possible, I'll just wish you the very best for 2016, and I hope it's a wonderful year of growth and adventure for each of you. Keep close to the Author of all life, the Giver of all hope, the Lover of all mankind - He's got amazing plans for each of us in 2016. I know it's going to be a good year. And even if things don't work out like we thought, or crumble before they've begun, there will always be more buds. 

Love,

Jessica xx

 

And tell me, have you got plans for 2016? What are you looking forward to most? What are you sad about leaving behind? What does a new year mean to you?

Guest Post - Incorporating Christianity Into One's Writing

Hello! I have something really exciting, and different, for you today! Remember I wrote about a young author - Emily Ann Putzke - who recently wrote a really good book called It Took A War here? Well, her and her writing buddy Emily Chapman have recently written another book called Ain't We Got Fun. They actually wrote it as a series of letters between their characters and posted it on their blogs early in the year, so I read it back then, and I can definitely say it is a really good old-fashioned story. Even though it does turn romantic, I wouldn't say it's all romance. It's more a story of two sisters learning to live, discovering, growing, falling and picking themselves up again. In short it's really good, and now it's published, so you can read it for yourself! Anyway, there's more information about Ain't We Got Fun at the end of the post, but in the meantime, I've been very privileged to have Emily Chapman write a guest post for my blog! Below she writes about how to incorporate Christianity, in a realistic way, into our writing:

"How is one to incorporate the Christian faith into one's writing? This is a difficult question to answer, and you could take it many different ways. However, I'm going to focus on the aspect of incorporating Christianity into a book that isn't necessarily “Christian fiction.”

I've written three novels/novellas in my lifetime. Cry of Hope, which was published in March of 2014, focused very deeply on Christianity. However, my other two novellas, Sensical Nonsense and Ain't We Got Fun, are rather light-hearted stories that focus mainly on relationships with fellow people. Both could, in fact, be classified as romances.

It's a bit more difficult to incorporate Christianity into these sorts of stories. Why? Because Christianity is such a wide-ranged topic that one simply cannot begin to delve into it only to drop it later on because it's drifting away from the storyline! Below I have a list of ways that I try to incorporate the faith into my writing.

1. Keep it moral. Something I hope that stands out in both Ain't We Got Fun and Sensical Nonsense (the latter of which has yet to be published) is the innocence in the romances. These stories do not involve the typical sensuality one might think of when you hear that a book is a “romance.” In fact, I hope that these stories will enlighten the audience. You see, love is more than a feeling. It's a choice. And a couple are more than just a couple. They are friends. And what comes with friendship? Laughter and loyalty; conversation and time spent together. Friends see one another through hardship and good times.

So you see, morality in a story is a symbol of Christ in its own way.

2. Don't hesitate to mention Him. In my everyday life, I don't talk about Jesus every hour and every minute of every day. However, I don't never talk about Him either. He's a part of me! So there is nothing wrong with the conversation in a novel turning to a topic of the faith, if it coincides with the story's plot. In fact, if you are a Christian and the character is a Christian and the character enters dark times, it would be abnormal for the character not to pray or speak with another character about Him!

3. Keep the characters real. This is a biggie. I have heard that many of the books under the label of “Christian fiction” seem to be stories with characters who are perfect—not only in their dashing good looks, but in their seemingly sinless life. If a character is a Christian, they are still bound to stumble. In fact, if they don't stumble, you are probably portraying the Christian faith in a … well, in a wrong way. We are all sinners. Even once we are saved, we still sin. Even if we desire not to sin, we still sin. Therefore, give your characters flaws.

A person could go on and on about this topic—how to incorporate Christianity into writing—for ages. Everyone has different opinions on this as well. Sometimes it depends on what you personally have been convicted upon. But despite all of that, I pray this has been helpful to you.

And that's another thing, and, probably, the most important thing: pray. Ask Him to be the guide of your pen as you incorporate Him into your story. He will most certainly be the best guide of all."

Thank you so much Emily! Those are excellent points, and really it's just making our characters as real as possible, as for us our loudest witness is the way we live, so it is for characters in stories!

Anyway, here's the information about the book Ain't We Got Fun, and the wonderful authors, Emily Chapman and Emily Ann Putzke:


About the book:




It was never much of an issue for Bess: living contentedly on her family's farm, despite the Depression which loomed around them. But when her older sister Georgiana takes off to New York City to make a fortune and help Papa out, feelings of adventure and wanderlust strike Bess at home. Through their lively letter correspondence, the sisters recount to one another their adventures, surprises, and heartaches, leaving little room for depression. For in a world of such wonder, ain't we got fun?

You can purchase Ain't We Got Fun through:

Amazon (Paperback) 

Amazon (Kindle) 

Createspace (Paperback)

Smashwords (ebook)

Author bios:

 
EMILY CHAPMAN, also known as Bess Rowland, is a young hobbit living in the dear old South, and she is entirely bonkers. She's a dreamer, an optimistic pessimist, and an introverted people person. Blue skies, dancing, Disney, and whipped cream make her happy, and she swears she's once been to Narnia. She's been a reader all her life, became a writer because of that, and published her first novel, Cry of Hope, in March of 2014. But without her Savior, all of this would mean nothing. It is in Him that she puts her hope.You can learn more about Emily Chapman and her books at www.emilychapmanauthor.com and www.facebook.com/emilychapmanauthor.

 
EMILY ANN PUTZKE and Gi Rowland have two big things in common: their love for God and coffee. Besides writing historical fiction, Emily enjoys being an aunty, photography, Irish dancing, spending time with family, attempting to play the guitar, reenacting, and reading. She loves polka dots, war movies, and all things vintage. Her first novella, It Took a War, was published in December of 2014. You can learn more about Emily Ann Putzke and her books at www.authoremilyannputzke.com and www.facebook.com/authoremilyannputzke. 

And if you live in the U.S, you can enter the giveaway below!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thanks so much for reading... How do you incorporate Christianity into your writing? Have you read Ain't We Got Fun yet?


 Jessica xxx :)

Hold On, Petal

The weather here today is rather wild. It started off as a deep foggy morning, but once the sun rose above the cloud, the fog disappeared. It was calm, sunny – cold, yes – but nice. Then, from nowhere this wind materialized. To begin with it wasn't very strong, just a little gust, a slight breeze. But it picked up speed until the point where now, is it positively fierce. Standing in front of the window while doing my violin practice I observed petals flying off what used to be a beautiful cream and pink rose. Just yesterday I had photographed that rose sparkling in the early morning dew, and noted just how large it was – positively massive. Now, as I looked, a few more petals fluttered down, leaving one petal remaining. I watched as the wind twisted and pulled and whipped that petal in every direction, but it still remained attached to the rose stalk. A few minutes later I checked again. It was still there.

That was a few hours ago now, and since then I've cleaned up an overflowing drawer in my room, made lunch, and read a chapter in a book. Then I remembered my rose with its lone petal. I looked out the window and guess what? It's still there. The wind is as strong as ever; it's knocked the bikes over on the verandah, it's blown the cane lounge across the lawn, its made the tin flaps on the rabbits cage bang, but it can't budge that little rose petal, clinging on for dear life to its centre.

I must tell you something else about this petal: it's not exactly pretty. Sure, it's a soft pink on one end fading into a mellow cream on the other, but it's been brighter. It's starting to go brown, and it has flopped down and started shrivelling up. Except that I observed that it remained attached to the rose centre while all the other petals blew away, I wouldn't have taken any notice of this petal at all. It's not something anybody would notice. It's small and insignificant, ordinary, and not even pretty. Yet look – it taught a lesson.

I think we need to be like that petal. If we hold onto our Centre, and remain connected to Him, no amount of tempestuous wind, or violent storms can tear us away from Him. Though perhaps others get whisked away, nothing can move us. It's about holding on, even when we feel worthless, brown, shrivelled and ordinary. Hold on when life gets wild, when problems multiply, when situations go wrong, when tears come. Hold on: our Center is not going anywhere, and when we're connected to Him “neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38-39

Linking up here.

Chatterbox Linkup - A Short Story

Several times now I've come across the monthly chatterbox link-up on Rachel Heffington's blog. For April though, I decided I wanted to participate and so set to work on this month's theme: travel-by-foot. In her words: "Chatterbox is a monthly event created and hosted by me, designed as a quick dialogue exercise. It doesn't have to be strictly dialogue, as I enjoy good description too, but centering your piece around a conversation is the general idea. I assign a topic (usually one that can be taken any of several ways) and it is your job to write a conversation between your characters, using this prompt. When you've posted your piece on your blog, come back here and leave your link on the link-up below." I got a little involved in the characters and conversations though, so it's more like a short story rather than a 'quick dialogue exercise.' It's not perfect, in fact it seems rather childish now that I re-read it... But, I had fun, and hopefully the old saying proves true - practice makes perfect!  And if you have some constructive criticism, please share!

 ***********

She stepped onto the platform, suitcase in hand, another bag clutched under her arm. Everybody else scurried off, the train puffed away, and Alise was alone. She tip-toed through the station, and onto the road, while a sigh escaped from her lips. “Why did the train have to be delayed?” she whispered. The moon hadn't risen yet, and the light from the train station was not going to last far enough. Alise looked up at the night sky and pled for safety. She had to walk a little way to get to her aunty's house; a pleasant stroll in daylight, a fearful stepping in darkness. She'd only done this once before, and that was with her brother – and when she was with him, she could be scared of nothing. Her face clouded as the thought of him came again. It had been four years now since his place of big brother, and closest friend had been vacant.

Photo credit

As the illumination from the train station faded and night took over, Alise heard footsteps. Human footsteps, and they were approaching her. Her drumming heart threatened to escape its cage, while her imagination conjured up all the grave possibilities. But fear hadn't very long to work, because presently, a tall man stood beside her.

“It's a bit dark to-night isn't it ma'am?” the man said, by way of greeting.

“Y-yes, very.”

If the sun had been shining, it would've revealed Alise's very pale face. Surely only suspicious people brought up conversations by commenting on how dark it was. Others would've commented on the pleasant breeze, or glowing evening star.

“You just got off the train I see.”

“Ah... yes. Did you?”

The man chuckled; a friendly little chuckle. “No Ma'am. The old ford finally decided that enough was enough. She's on the side back up the road a piece.”

“Oh.” Alise couldn't even banish her own worry for long enough to express some sympathy for the man's plight.

“The stationmaster isn't any help; I know the man,” he went on. “So I'm goin' up this way to my mate's place. It's too late tonight, so I'll call the missus, and stay over. Get the old rattle trap on the road again tomorrow.”

“Oh,” said Alise again, wondering how far up this road it was the 'mate's place' and how that corresponded to the couple of miles to her aunt's house.

“Where are you from?” she ventured.

The man laughed again, a strangely familiar laugh that made Alise fear the more. “Long story to that one, ma'am. At the moment we're livin' on a farm 'bout twenty mile back that way.” He jerked his thumb in the opposite direction to what they were walking. “Bit of a shack really; the missus would like better. But I've got work there, so we're staying.”

“Do you have any children?” Alise wondered, her voice a little less strained than before.

“Yes indeed, ma'am,” the man responded, his voice echoing the twinkle that would've been in his eyes had she been able to see them. “One little tacker – he's up walking now. Gettin' into everything within reach.” The man chuckled, then sobered. “Another one on the way too. That's where I was today... The missus is having troubles, so I had to get some pills from the doctor.” He held up the case in his hand. “Not leaving it in the car,” he said, his chuckle returning, “Never know who's about.”

This last remark brought back the chills to Alise's spine. Was she really safe walking with this man? She was only just past halfway to her aunt's house.

“This night air does wonders.” said the man, breathing deeply as they strode along.

“What is your name?” asked Alise, ignoring the last remark. At least then if something did happen she would be better informed.

“You can call me Bruce” he said, a smile in his voice.

The road fell behind them, one step after another, until Alise felt constrained to ask, “Where is this place you're walking to?” They had already passed several houses.

“Just around the next bend.”

Alise wasn't sure where that was in relation to her aunt's house so she kept quiet, and looked up at the stars. The next bend came and went, and Alise, caught up in her own thoughts, unwittingly followed the man when he turned into a gateway, and began unfastening the latch.

“Oh!” she cried as she bumped into the gate. “Is this really your friends house?”

“Sure is, ma'am. You headin' here too?”

“Yes, this is my aunty's place. I'm staying here for a couple of weeks.”

Alise looked up at the stars again as she waited for the man to get the gate open. They reminded her of her brother and the nights they'd spent stargazing. It had been their favourite hobby, whiling away hours naming the bright, glowing planets, and making up their own constellations. What if she never saw Johnny again? A tear dropped to the ground at the thought, and Alise's head filled with memories.

“Are you coming Ma'am?”

The voice startled Alise, and she jumped, before stepping through the open gateway. How could she let herself get so caught up in her emotions again! “I must stay fully alert,” she chided herself, “It is not safe yet.”

Photo Credit

The man shut the gate behind them, and they walked up the lane together. A full moon was making its way over the horizon, bringing out startlingly shadows. Alise's aunt often visited late, so she may not be home yet. Uncle could be out as well. What was Alise going to do with this man until her relatives got back?

They stepped onto the veranda, and a light appeared. Alise exhaled gratefully: Aunt must be home. She turned to view the stranger now that there was light to see. He stood there studying her, his face beaming.

“Do you know me now?” he questioned softly.

Alise stared, her jaw dropped of its own accord. “Johnny? Johnny!” Her voice rose in pitch and volume. “You told me your name was Bruce!”

The man, laughing loudly now, swung her around just like old times, despite her squealing protest, adding, “Want to go stargazing Alli?” 

Linking up here.

Just Write - Winter Nights

The other day I was browsing, and I came across this: Just Write. The main idea, unfathomably enough, is to just write. And write whatever enters your head, however it comes out - it's about being real and mixing the ordinary with the extraordinary. It's an exercise in free writing basically. I thought it was a great idea, and so... I did it. I just wrote it out in one sitting, letting the words follow each other - almost mindlessly, not trying to write it right. Anyway, here's what came out: 

You know sometimes there are nights that feel distinctly wintery? With a howling wind bringing cold weather from the east, and sneaking draughts through cracks in the doors? And then there are summer nights. What's the difference? I'm not sure, but I do know that tonight is a summers night. The wind is blowing in gusts, making the trees and cornstalks quiver and me wonder “Is that rain?”. But, contrary to those wintery nights when all you want to do is snuggle down under soft blankets and enjoy the feeling of being safe and cozy while the world outside battles, the air is warm and the darkness feels eerie. It seems to have a sense of foreboding, like something could happen – something unpleasant. The mirrors on the mobile hanging in front of the window rattle softly, then for just a moment the world is still, before the corn leaves rustle again. I went out in it – I know what it's like. The air is kind of thick – not smokey, not dusty; thick. Indescribable; it's a summers night.

But let me imagine, for just a moment, a winter's night. The wind is still present, but it's slightly stronger. The air is bitingly cold, and the wind whips the chilliness into me. The trees make their chorus, only this time the possibility of rain is reality, and soon it comes in little drops falling on the roof, like a lullaby. It's sort of wild out there, but it somehow brings up an instinct to snuggle with a cup of hot something, and good old book, and bury deep down under a blanket from a dear friend. Winter nights are made for fluffy new socks – thick full cushioned ones, and big woollen jumpers – like the one from my grandpa that clearly would've fitted him better than me. Winter nights are full of possibilities and magic. Anything's possible – your wildest dreams and greatest fantasies. The best winter nights are during winter, when the evenings are long and the firelight dwindles, and it's still four hours until midnight. But the strangest thing is this: winter nights can happen in summer, and summer nights can happen in winter. It's a feeling. It's an ambience. It's an aura. Perhaps, it's an attitude.

Oh, and winter nights were made for stargazing. The stars seem to shine brighter and more clearly. That's where the magic comes in, and heaven descends, and the infinite seems possible. It's when time slows, and darkness deepens, and stars illuminate. It's when we realize, we are so small. We are but tiny specks in tiny corners of this wide wide world. We are nothing, we cannot be measured. Our lives, so important to us; our problems, so huge to us; our knowledge, so infallible to us – it is but the minutest part of the expansive universe God created. And back of all the stars, above the endless heavens, is God himself. And here is where it becomes amazing: God has us in His heart. There is no moment He is not thinking of us; there is no second when He's not looking out for our safety and well-being. There is no time when He is not sending His blessings, down through the stars, past the howling winds, through our tightly wrapped blankets, and into our undeserving hearts. Somehow, on winter nights, God feels closer.


It was kind of freeing to just write, and not be writing for a specific purpose, or trying to make everything proper. I really enjoyed it, I'm hoping to do it again, often, and I'd encourage you to try it for yourself. Seriously, just write! (I'd love to read what you've written too. :)

Oh, and I'm linking up to the latest 'Just Write' post over on the extraordinary ordinary too. :)