From This Day Hence

From This Day Hence is now available from my website. As a result of increased shipping costs, I am only offering shipping to New Zealand and Australia. However, if anyone would like a quote for shipping for print books to other parts of the world, I am happy to arrange this at no obligation.

All of my books are offered as eBooks on Amazon. Look out for some offers on eBooks coming up next month!

Waiting

  As we impatiently await the news of the arrival of our latest grandchild, another less important but still somewhat exciting development is underway.

I'm referring to this:

When This Day Comes, the first in a new trilogy, A Day For You series, has had an extremely long gestation period. (I am so thankful that our grandbabies, even those who take their time, do not delay as long as this book has!)

Now at the printers, I'm wondering what will be first: a birth announcement (I certainly hope so) or a shipment of books?

Researching

I guess my love of history and detail is to blame, but when it comes to researching for a new book, I tend to get carried away. I make copious notes - many of which I never use - and bore DH with all the fascinating facts that I learn about a new place or time in history. When it came time to research my latest book, I discovered an interesting fact: it's quite different researching and imaging a scene in a place in which you have never lived and know pretty much zilch about than it is about a town or area that you know well.

My Distant Land series was set in an area I knew intimately. Intimately for a twentieth century story. Except my books were set over one hundred and fifty years earlier. So I had to do research. What I discovered when I started to delve into the history was that I had more knowledge than I realised. I had already learnt much about that earlier time period just from growing up in the area, absorbing facts and figures about the early settlers, their way of life, etc.

Family stories from grandparents and others also contributed to the bigger picture if they lived in the area. And if you have a grandparent or two particularly proud of their relationship to the earliest of settlers and their impact on the area, well, your research is more about verifying facts than searching them out.

But when deciding to write about a place you have never lived in, you quickly learn that you don't know what you don't know. Knowledge that is common to every child who attended school in that place - in fact in that country - is new to you. You struggle to acquire the common knowledge, not realising that what you think is "delving deeper" is still just scratching the surface.

When I began my research into early Wellington, I would share facts with DH and he'd look at me as if I had two heads.

"Did you know that land around Wellington was reclaimed from the harbour?"

"Yes," followed by that look that says, "Everyone knows that," and then evidence that he knew far more than me: an indication I needed to do even more research.

"Did you know ... ?"

"Of course."

But there were some things he didn't know.

"Did you know that Basin Reserve was once going to be the wharf?"

He looked at me as if I was insane.

"It's true. Before the 1855 earthquake it was part of the harbour."

I still didn't convince him. Not at the time. But I think I have now. And all because of a visit.

DH and I spent this past weekend in Wellington. Now, there are obvious challenges to researching mid-nineteenth century Wellington when one lives in the early twenty-first century. Wellington is not a sleepy little town that has hardly changed. Early buildings have disappeared - destroyed by fire or earthquake (common occurrences in the early days of settlement) or removed to make way for bigger and better buildings or wider roads and motorways. Some of the earlier streets have disappeared or have become narrow access ways that are difficult to find. Wellington now, sprawling around the harbour, reaching up into the hills, is a far cry from the capital city that was birthed in the eighteen hundreds.

But there was still some evidence to be found.

We walked around Basin Reserve, established in 1868, and I was able to picture what it may have looked like one hundred and fifty years ago.

We went around Oriental Bay and even though the nursery and tea room has long disappeared, I could easily imagine the view patrons were once privileged to enjoy.

We went up to Mount Victoria lookout and for the first time, could see how Basin Reserve could have once been connected to the harbour.

We tried to imagine where the harbour used to be before reclamation but it wasn't until we walked around Lambton Quay and saw the remains of Plummer's Ark underneath the BNZ building and stood outside historic Government House and learnt that prior to reclamation, the spot where we were standing would have been three to four metres underwater that we fully appreciated the hectares that were added to the city.

 

We visited Wellington Museum and experienced what Queen's Wharf would have been like when it was first built (and where DH first realised my cold was making me feel extremely unwell as what should have taken me three hours to explore - and would have required much patience on his part - took me less than thirty minutes.)

And we stood inside St Paul's church, feeling the tangible awe, joy and wonder of over a century of worship within its timbered walls.

I pictured my characters living and breathing in these places as they once were. I gained enough of the sense of early Wellington to feel as if I could have once lived here.

Once.

Not nowadays. While I've idly thought at times that it could be a city I could live in and enjoy the arts and history it has to offer, I soon changed my mind.

Wellington is traffic and noise and people all the time. All the time.

And don't even get me started on the wind. Wellingtonians are a hardy bunch ... but I don't intend to join their ranks except as a character in one of my books.

More Books

This past fortnight I had reason to order another fifty copies of my first book from the publisher. At the time, I still had one left. It's now gone.

I remember when I purchased the first one hundred: I was afraid I was going to have them left on my hands for ever. Since then, I've had to place several orders, yet each time I wonder if I'll be able to sell them all.

After my second book launch, my second granddaughter, then aged about three or so, asked me one day, "Do you remember when you had all those books you were trying to get rid of?" I explained that I'd written the books and that on that particular day I was signing them for people who wanted to buy them. She was unimpressed, as are all my granddaughters when I mention that I've written books.

It's very humbling.

Several months ago I finished another book but rather than get straight into editing - which is what I've done in the past - I put it aside and begun another book. In all honesty, I don't know what I'll do with the manuscript once it's edited. Perhaps that's why I didn't jump straight into editing this time.

Do I really want to publish again? All that editing and proof reading and deciding on a cover. And then there's the marketing and accounts. If I could just write and let someone else handle the other ... I think that's the dream of every modern day writer who struggles to get their work recognised.  

But if I don't publish, why do I write?

The answer is simple: I write because I can't help myself. There is satisfaction in the act of writing. Through my writing I seek to serve God and others. Writing is an act of worship ... with my writing I seek to glorify the One that created me and Who deserves all praise and glory.

So even if not another single manuscript sees the light of day, I'll still keep writing.

It's what I was created to do.

Celebration

This week my husband and I celebrated thirty two years of marriage (and survive to tell the tale), and as always at this time of year, I take some time to reflect on marriage and why I value it so highly.

Before I go any further, let's get this out of the way first. There have been times I could have cheerfully throttled my husband and made off with all his money (what little he had) but I loved my kids too much to force them to live under visiting rights. (By the way, the closest I ever came to such an act was throwing water over him when he had the audacity to sleep after one of the first arguments in our marriage. No, I'm not proud of the fact but I doubt I've learnt to handle arguments any better since then either.)

Ours has not been a happily-ever-after story. There have been ups and downs. There have been struggles. There have been years when there was never enough money to pay the bills and times when we relied solely on God to put food on the table. There have been health issues. And now there is 'the change' (the time when every husband deserves a medal). There have been babies, and children, and schooling, and graduations. And more recently the next generation of marriages and babies. There are elderly parents where we have to play a balancing act between maintaining their freedom and independence and doing what is best for their own health and/or safety. There have been times when we felt madly in love - and times when it was the vows that we made that kept us hanging on by a thread. There have been tears. And laughter. And shared memories.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

All this begs the question, why then write a book about domestic abuse? The answer is less complex than the issue. Firstly, I wanted to explore a Christian response to domestic abuse. If it sounds easy, I'm here to assure you that it's not. I was horrified (and don't mind admitting it) to learn that there were some Christian leaders who believed and actively taught that a wife must stay with a husband who was physically abusive, and furthermore, must not discuss her situation with anyone because by doing so she would be engaging in gossip.

Let me see if I understand this correctly: a woman - and most likely her children as well - were to continue to be placed in physical harm at the knowledge of her pastor and nothing would be done about it? The woman was the one in 'the wrong' for seeking help and talking about it and not the man who was the perpetrator of the abuse?

Despite what was claimed, I don't believe this was a biblical response. The Bible places a higher value on human life than that. An eye for an eye, a life for a life ... would the abuse of a woman and child really go unnoticed? And while I'm sure that abuse happened in Bible times just as it does now, we must remember that sin was just as prevalent then as it is now. Jesus spoke about the hardness of His hearers' hearts that they allowed divorce - and contrary to the Law of Moses. I find it difficult to believe that He would turn a blind eye to a wife and children suffering abuse at the hands of the one who had been given the duty to love and cherish them.

Secondly, I wanted to explore my own (rather complex) views on divorce and remarriage. I identify with Madi's struggles in this area. While being sympathetic to Madi's plight, I found I needed to remain true to my own values and beliefs - all which created tension. I handled this in a way that satisfied me, but whether it will satisfy my readers is another issue altogether!

I will admit that this was not an easy story to write. While I enjoy writing - and, yes, enjoyed writing this most of the time - I would often find myself feeling rather 'blue' afterwards (actually, that's putting it mildly). It wasn't until I was going through the final editing drafts that I made the connection and put strategies in place to protect my mental, emotional and spiritual states. I hope and pray that this story doesn't have the same effect on my readers. (So far I have not had anyone complain that they have experienced the same effects.)

While I have not personally experienced domestic abuse in my marriage, I believe that almost all of us have some painful experience in our lives that has shaped us one way or another. I wrote out of that pain when I wrote The Scent of Rain. Perhaps this is why I included so many personal details in the story - details that only family members would recognise such as Marcus not eating garlic - to keep it light-hearted.

My plan was never to write a story of darkness or despair but one of hope and redemption. I hope in some small way I succeeded.

Advantages

While I hate spam as much as the next person (I'm talking about the email variety not the canned ham variety that I remember from my childhood and would rather not remember at all) I was beginning to wonder why my email box was suddenly no longer flooded with spam trying to sell me products I do not desire or need (and of which weight loss pills was the most inoffensive).

Having experienced multiple daily spam that all seemed very similar, it should not have taken me as long as it did to start wondering. (Okay, my family will testify that sometimes I'm slow off the mark.)

However, that daily and often offensive email does have its advantages: it lets me know that at least the 'contact' tab on my website is working.

Not being a frequent visitor to my own website (I mean, why would I?) I was shocked to discover it was no longer up and running and the domain was up for sale.

My domain.

A few clicks and I was led to a page requesting payment - payment that I had already made. An email to the host and everything was sorted in quick time - so quick that I wondered if I'd imagined it all.

So now on my 'to do' list, is to regularly check that my website is still live. And to think I used to believe that the life of a writer was all about, well, writing. Seems I spend more time marketing, researching, checking websites, blogging, emailing, than I do actually writing!

Inspired

Who could not be inspired to write when surrounded by all this?

Certainly not me!

Giveaway

The Scent of Rain will be available as a free eBook on Amazon from August 7 and all weekend.  Please check it out and also my author page.

It rained the day Damien proposed. A gentle falling rain that carried the salt from the ocean and released the scents from the nearby flowering bushes. Madi thought he couldn’t have chosen a more romantic time or place than the little pavilion beside the beach with the rain providing a veil around them. As he slipped the solitaire ring on to her finger she thought she must be the happiest person alive. Damien loved her!

 

Damien Hamilton was everything Madeline Johnstone could wish for. Tall, good-looking, charming, and with an exciting career, she couldn’t believe that he had chosen her. The day of their wedding she believed all her dreams had come true. Little did she know that the nightmare was only beginning.

 

The choices Madi makes will cause ripples that will affect not only her but also her daughter, Jaena, her family and friends, destroy a lifelong friendship, and jeopardise Jaena’s relationship with the handsome Mitchell Gallagher.

Discouragement

It comes to all of us in one form or another.

Writers are very familiar with it.

If it's not rejection slips, it's no one buying our books, or it's a bad review, or it's feeling as if there's little worth in anything we write, or it's something else.

Recently I was excited to share about a friend whose book had been published. What I wasn't so excited about sharing - with her - was the discovery that a page was missing out of her book. I felt terrible having to pass on such news and struggled how to do it without feeling that I was dealing her a dreadful blow. Thankfully, not every book was affected, but I know she found it discouraging.

If she is anything like me, she probably wondered if she should be writing at all. Writers are funny like that. We take any setback as a 'sign' that we've misinterpreted our calling, that we were hugely mistaken to think that we could write, that we are being pretentious imagining for even one moment that there are readers out there interested in our books ... well, you get the idea.

I've had a few weeks feeling discouraged re my writing. I think part of it is that I haven't had the time to write like I would like to have, and part of it is that I'm lacking inspiration (and I know I should just sit down and write when I hit that blank wall - and in part that's why I'm writing this blog post so at least I'm writing), and part of it is, oh I don't really know. I love my characters, I love the setting, but something hasn't quite come together for me yet. It will - and then I probably won't have enough time to get all my ideas down at once.

Meanwhile, I'll plan how to best use our limited time when we visit Australia next month because there is so much research I want to do and so many places I need to visit. (Can't you just see the look of excitement on my husband's and son's faces when I tell them my plans?). And I won't allow discouragement to win - not yet.

Free eBook

To Await the Dream is free this weekend only on Amazon. Check it out and also my author page.

Blessings

This afternoon I had the privilege of spending the afternoon with a friend who has been an amazing blessing to me. This friend has the gift of saying just the right thing when I need it most. She has offered encouragement, prayed with me, and together we have shared our writing journeys.

This friend, who is similar in so many ways, is also a writer. She has just published her first book, and is going through many of the same doubts and pangs that I experienced (and still experience) when I launched my first book onto the unsuspecting public.

That this gifted and godly woman doubts her own ability would be incomprehensible except that her words today echoed my words and thoughts. In one way it is a relief to know that I'm not alone ... that I'm not the only one who doubts my own work and lies awake afraid that no one will read my books.

Since I don't have her permission to share her book yet, I'll leave you with just a taste from the novel's cover (and hopefully I can link to it soon) ...

Mothers

This post will be politically incorrect. I make no apologies for that. At the risk of sounding like the brash Australian that I am, I need to share something that is on my heart.

I've seen the articles and the Facebook posts leading up to Mothers Day from those who think we shouldn't mark today (for whatever reason) and believe me I understand. I do emphasise with the multitudes who find this day so very, very difficult.

For those who have recently lost a mother ... my heart goes out to you.

For those who were abused by a mother or who never knew their mother ... I weep with you for all that you never had.

For those who longed to be mothers and are not ... I can only imagine in part the longing and the pain you experience.

For those who are mothers but have lost a child ... I cannot even begin to imagine or comprehend the extent of your grief.

For anyone who finds Mothers Day difficult ... I do understand and my post is not designed to hurt you further.

But by failing to appreciate and celebrate mothers today we are doing them, and ourselves, a great disservice.

Somewhere today a young mother is wondering if it's all worth it ... if her skills, her talent, even her life is being wasted being at home with little ones all day ... if anyone even cares what she does.

Somewhere an older mother is hoping and praying her adult children will call her and remember the love and the sacrifices she poured out on them over the years ... not because she feels they owe her anything but simply because she misses them.

Somewhere a mother of teens is struggling and needs reminding to hang in there ... that she's doing a good job ... and this too will pass.

Somewhere a mother is aching for her children ... for the choices they have made ... for their broken relationships ... for the unfulfilled dreams ... for their pain ... and she needs to hear they are okay.

Somewhere a mother is hurting ... her child is dying ... her dreams and hopes have been shattered by miscarriage ... her children's dad has walked out ... there's no money for food ... and she needs support.

Somewhere mothers need encouraging today. And while I realise how blessed I am, I also realise that there are many women out there today who are hurting. And if lifting them up today, if acknowledging all that they do, if coming alongside them in their struggles, if weeping with them in their pain, is politically incorrect, them I am happy to be accused of such.

So for all those who are mothers ... of natural offspring, of someone else's children, of hurting individuals, I would like to wish you a Happy Mothers Day.

Living Epistles

Many people have said to me, "What a pity you had such a big family to raise. Think of the novels and the short stories and the poems you never had time to write because of that."

And I looked at my children and I said, "These are my poems. These are my short stories."

 - Olga Masters, 1919 - 1986, Australian Writer

 

You are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read by all men; clearly you are an epistle of Christ, ministered by us, written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart.

2 Corinthians 3:2-3, NKJV

Stille Nacht Heilige Nacht

Silent Night! Holy Night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon godly tender pair.
Holy infant with curly hair,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Joseph gingerly opened his front door and stepped out onto the snow-encrusted step. Wrapping his scarf more securely around his neck he tugged at the door until he heard it close behind him and stepped over the broken tiles lying nearby. Absently he remembered that he had planned on cleaning up the jagged pottery pieces before going out. Perhaps when he returned: if he had time.

He patted his right-hand pocket and sighed with relief when he was greeted with the rustle of paper. He must hurry if he was to accomplish his errand in time. For the hundredth time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. What if his friend Franz laughed at him? It was such a private thing for him to share. Was it worth it?

Silent Night! Holy Night!
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord at thy birth
Jesus, Lord at thy birth.

It was a short walk from his home in Oberndorf to his friend’s home in nearby Arnsdorf, but for Joseph the road dragged on. Twice, he almost turned back. When a white-winged snowfinch darted out from under a nearby spruce and sat watching him, he saw it as a sign from heaven. He must go on. Whatever happened, he must go on.

Silent Night! Holy Night!
Brought the world gracious light,
Down from heaven's golden height
Comes to us the glorious sight:
Jesus, as one of mankind,
Jesus, as one of mankind.

Joseph stamped the snow from his boots as he surveyed his friend’s apartment that sat above the schoolhouse. School had already been dismissed for the day and the schoolteacher now stood outlined in the upper window. 

His courage almost failed him. What right had he a simple curate, to ask such a thing of a musician and schoolteacher? Perhaps …

No, he knew he must do this. Hadn’t God shown him the way? Whispering a quick prayer, Joseph knocked loudly on the wooden door. 

Silent Night! Holy Night!
By his love, by his might
God our Father us has graced,
As a brother gently embraced
Jesus, all nations on earth,
Jesus, all nations on earth.

“Joseph, come in. I didn’t expect you to come out in this frigid weather. I wonder how many will venture out tonight?”

Joseph removed his wraps and sat in the chair that Franz pulled up to the fire. He clutched at the paper in his pocket. It was now or never.

“I brought you the poem I told you about. The one I wrote two years ago when I was living in Mariapfarr.”

“This is the poem that you thought I might be able to set to music?”

Joseph nodded. Slowly he held out the paper to his friend.

The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock that had belonged to Franz’s grandfather and which now sat proudly on the mantelpiece. Joseph hunched over in his chair, hands clasped between his knees, hardly daring to breathe. His insides churned when Franz raised his head. He willed himself to face his friend.

“This is good, Joseph. Really good. I think we should wait and find a master musician to set it to music. I couldn’t do it justice.”

“No.” The word cut through the air, startling both men. “No, I want you to write it. I want to sing it tonight.”

“At the Midnight Mass? Impossible. Who would perform it?”

“We will. I’ll play the guitar and we’ll both sing. The choir can sing the last two lines of each stanza. See, they repeat. They should be able to manage that.”

Franz nodded. “Very well, then. Let’s get to work.”

Silent Night! Holy Night!
Long ago, minding our plight
God the world from misery freed,
In the dark age of our fathers decreed:
All the world redeemed,
All the world redeemed.

That evening, the two men stood before the congregation of St Nicholas Church in Oberndorf. It was Christmas Eve and the church was filled to overflowing. As Joseph strummed the opening chords, a sense of expectation filled the village church. Lifting their voices they sang:

Silent Night! Holy Night!
Shepherds first saw the sight
Of angels singing alleluia
Calling clearly near and far:
Christ, the saviour is born,
Christ the Saviour is born.

As their voices faded away, church bells started chiming the hour. Christmas Day 1818 was upon them. And the world had just received a gift. Joseph Mohr and Franz Gruber’s Silent Night! Holy Night! would become one of the most loved carols of all time. 

© Julianne Jones 2005 

The Scent of Rain

It rained the day Damien proposed. A gentle falling rain that carried the salt from the ocean and released the scents from the nearby flowering bushes. Madi thought he couldn’t have chosen a more romantic time or place than the little pavilion beside the beach with the rain providing a veil around them. As he slipped the solitaire ring on to her finger she thought she must be the happiest person alive. Damien loved her!

Damien Hamilton was everything Madeline Johnstone could wish for. Tall, good-looking, charming, and with an exciting career, she couldn’t believe that he had chosen her. The day of their wedding she believed all her dreams had come true. Little did she know that the nightmare was only beginning.

The choices Madi makes will cause ripples that will affect not only her but also her daughter, Jaena, her family and friends, destroy a lifelong friendship, and jeopardise Jaena’s relationship with the handsome Mitchell Gallagher.

Now Released!

To Await the Dream

Their dreams have come true … or have they?

Katie accepts Samuel’s proposal but when he is wrongly accused it looks as if all their dreams will dissolve. Will they have the strength to endure?

Rhiannon returns to England only to discover that she has left her heart in a distant land. Will she follow her head or her heart?

Kieran pursues his dream for further education but he has another dream that few know about. Will he too realise his dreams?  

To Await The Dream is now available on my website with a special offer for Australian and New Zealand residents. Stay tuned for more offers and another release in upcoming weeks.

Doubts

This afternoon my publisher emailed to tell me that my books were on their way!!!

This is the moment when I start doubting myself ... when I think that my writing isn't good enough ... that no one will read my book let alone buy it ... that someone will find an elementary mistake that should never have made it through the first draft ... that more than one person will find that mistake and all will point it out ... that all the reviews will be bad (a few bad ones are to be expected) ... that my readers won't enjoy the sequel to the first two books ... that my 'baby' will be badly received ...

I learnt a lot during the writing and publishing of this book - and I mean a lot - God really took me on a journey of faith and learning to trust with this manuscript - but at the moment my most enduring memory is that of going over the reader spreads on the back veranda with Kielsie, our beloved Border Collie, at my feet on what was to be her last full day with our family.

As corny as it may sound, I think it's going to be a while before I separate Kielsie and the publication of my third book in my mind.

Another Set

I am so grateful to "D" who gave me another set of eyes to check for spelling and grammatical errors in what I hope is the final draft of my latest novel.

I suspect she stayed up later than she should have and endured discomfort (even pain) to complete the task. But it's done and I cannot thank her enough for all that she did and in such a short amount of time. Having recently edited Son#3's thesis, I can honestly say that proofreading someone else's work can be, well, hard work.

It was not without its moments. Time difference aside (she is in the US and I am in NZ) there were also a few giggles over different spellings. (I wonder if after sending off a few emails only to have me confirm that it was indeed the way we spelt the word here, if she began to think that I was making it all up and that there was no way anyone in their right mind could spell the word that way!) I guess because we are so used to American spelling in the books and magazines that we get down here, that we think nothing of it, but I'm not sure our spelling has infiltrated America to the same degree.

Words like: cosy and cozy, storey and story (we use both but they have different meanings), enrol and enroll, jewellery and jewelery, kerb and curb (again, we use both: kerb is the side of the road, curb is to restrain or check), realise and realize, gaol and jail - to name a few. While our American counterparts prefer to leave 'u' out of such important words as honour, humour, and Saviour, it seems that those with strong affiliations to Britain (or is it just us downunder?) have an aversion to 'z' unless it's the first letter of a word, preferring to write realise, criticise, and cosy.

And I don't know about others, but when you've looked at the same word again and again in a 60 000+ word MS, that word can start to look weird. You begin to question whether you really know that word: is that how it's used, is that what it really means, is that even how you spell it (it's starting to look wrong now). That happened to me with but and hospital. (They still look wrong.)

I think I can safely declare that my brain is now suffering from over-use. I don't know if it will ever recover. I suspect my friend is now enjoying a well-earned rest while I ... well I think I might go and knit a row or two and quit butchering the English language on my blog.

Two

I'm grateful - and excited - to have not one, but TWO books currently with the publishers. To Await the Dream is with Castle Publishing and The Scent of Rain is with Ark House Press.

Perhaps it's a little ironic that the novel with an Australian flavour is with a New Zealand publisher and the one with a New Zealand influence is with an Australian publisher. But (and New Zealanders will hate me for saying this) to a large proportion of the world's population, they are one and the same country. (Not true, though. Different cultures, different slang, some would even say, different English language - although our spelling is the same.)

Since the next novel that I'm planning is set in both Australia and New Zealand I wonder how I will go about choosing a publisher when the time comes?

Publishing

I am grateful - and nervous and scared - all at the same time.

I have finished Book Three (for the what I sincerely hope is the final time) and it has now gone to the publisher.

I await his response ...