Interview with Frank McRae from One Holy Night by Joan Hochstetler

J. M. Hochstetler: Frank, it’s good to sit down with you for a heart to heart. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Tell our readers a little about yourself.

Frank McRae: Well, you ought to know since you created me. (Laughs.) I’m glad to have this opportunity to speak directly to readers and possibly clarify some things that might be misunderstood.

Hochstetler: I suspect you mean your having disowned your son, Mike, because he married a Vietnamese woman. But we’ll get back to that. You’re a WWII veteran.

Frank: I was a Marine, and I fought in the South Pacific. My brother, Bobby, was captured at Corregidor and ended up in a Japanese prisoner of war camp, so I came to hate all Asians. Anyway, before me and my buddies shipped out, we married our girls. I’d loved Maggie since we were kids, and we only had a weekend together before I had to leave. Our daughter, Julie, was born while I was overseas, and after I got back, we had Mike.

Hochstetler: The first issue you had to deal with in the story was Maggie’s cancer.

Frank: Yes, and that was a hard one. I admit I wasn’t always the best husband, and that left me with a lot of guilt when Maggie was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. During most of our marriage, I let my career be my first priority way too often. I told myself I needed to work hard to provide for my wife and kids.

Hochstetler: That’s an attitude a lot of men have—and some women too.

Frank: You’re right. Then when Maggie got sick, I realized I’d been kidding myself. I thought we’d grow old together, that one day I’d retire and we’d do all the things she’d always wanted to do but couldn’t because I was too busy building my career. There was plenty of time for all that. I believed my kids would make decisions I agreed with, grow up and get married, and live happily ever after. But it doesn’t always work out the way you think it will.

Hochstetler: So you tried to make up for not having put your priorities in the right place by turning into the perfect husband.

Frank: Maggie knew how much I loved her, but I didn’t tell her nearly often enough. So I thought if I became the Christian she wanted me to be, God would answer my prayers, and He wouldn’t take her away from me. I simply couldn’t conceive of a life without her.

Hochstetler: She was a believer, but you weren’t.

Frank: Oh, I had a general belief in God. But I didn’t know then what it meant to have a personal relationship with Jesus. Honestly it didn’t mean anything to me because I had a good life—a wife I loved who loved me, a beautiful daughter and a son, a great career I was doing well at, a nice house and car. You know—all the stuff that can be taken away from you in a moment of time.

Hochstetler: So Maggie’s illness shook you. And Mike going off to Vietnam did too.

Frank: If you do all the right things, your life is supposed to turn out well, isn’t it? I fought in WWII to free my brother from a Japanese prisoner of war camp and to make sure my son would never have to endure the hell I did, see the things I saw. But I couldn’t save my brother. And though I married the only woman in the world I loved, I couldn’t save her from cancer. I couldn’t keep my son from going off to war or marrying a Bhuddist, a woman who looked to me just like the Japanese I’d fought against. Everything I worked for, believed in was swept away in the blink of an eye.

Hochstetler: That’s hard for a man to deal with.

Frank: Darn tootin’ it is. You’re supposed to be in control, and if anything gets broken, fix it. But I couldn’t fix any of it.

Hochstetler: So you disowned Mike.

Frank: And then never could take it back and set things straight. (Chokes up.) Believe me, I wanted to. But it was too late.

Hochstetler: And you insisted Maggie continue treatments when she needed to find a place of peace.

Frank: She wouldn’t have suffered so much if I’d listened to her. My heart just couldn’t let her go.

Hochstetler: Julie and her husband, Dan, worried that you were just pretending to accept Jesus in order to please Maggie. Were you?

Frank: (Hesitates.) My faith was shallow at that point, but it was there, down deep inside. As Maggie and I studied the Bible together, the seeds were being planted. I know Dan and Julie prayed for me a lot and kept on trusting God to hold onto me when it looked like I’d totally rejected Him. And He did. I never turned completely away.

I was mad that my prayers weren’t answered the way I wanted them to be and hurting so bad I couldn’t reach out to anyone, including God. It took a near tragedy for me to learn that God’s hand was in all of it and that He could use even our deepest pain to accomplish His purpose in our lives. Though he didn’t answer our prayers the way we wanted Him to, He carried us all safely through in spite of my hard-headedness.

Hochstetler: In the end, it took a baby.

Frank: (Nods.) Just like that other baby He gave to us all those years ago. There’s something about holding a little one in your arms that changes your heart, reminds you of what’s really important, and opens you up to forgive and to receive forgiveness . . .

Hochstetler: And joy.

Frank: Yes. The kind of joy that will last a lifetime. (Smiles through tears.)

Hochstetler: Thanks for joining us today, Frank. You’ve given us a lot to think about.

Frank: Maybe that was part of the reason behind it all. Thank you for having me, and God bless.

One Holy Night by Joan Hochstetler

An unforgettable story of forgiveness and reconciliation, One Holy Night retells the Christmas story in a strikingly original way—through the discovery of a baby abandoned in the manger of a church’s nativity scene.

Destined to become a classic for all seasons, One Holy Night deals compassionately with the gritty issues of life—war and violence, devastating illness, intergenerational conflict, addictions, and broken relationships. This moving, inspirational story will warm readers’ hearts with hope and joy long after they finish reading.

About Joan Hochstetler

J. M. Hochstetler writes stories that always involve some element of the past and of finding home. Born in central Indiana, the daughter of Mennonite farmers, she graduated from Indiana University with a degree in Germanic languages. She was an editor with Abingdon Press for twelve years and has published four novels. Daughter of Liberty (2004), Native Son (2005), and Wind of the Spirit (March 2009), the first three books of the critically acclaimed American Patriot Series, are set during the American Revolution. One Holy Night, a retelling of the Christmas story set in modern times, is the 2009 Christian Small Publishers Fiction Book of the Year and a finalist for the 2009 American Christian Fiction Writers Long Contemporary Book of the Year.

Hochstetler is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Christian Authors Network, Middle Tennessee Christian Writers, Nashville Christian Writers Association, and Historical Novels Society. She and her husband live near Nashville, Tennessee.

You can find Joan online at www.jmhochstetler.com or at this book’s blog http://oneholynight.blogspot.com.

Read an Excerpt

Prologue
November 19, 1966
Mike McRae dropped his battered duffel bag on the concrete floor and glanced through the bank of windows to where the wide-bodied army transport sat waiting on the snow-dusted tarmac. Waiting to take him and his buddies halfway around the world to war.
Viet Nam.

The name hung between him and his family as they gathered in the spare, unadorned military terminal, trying to pretend that this trip was nothing out of the ordinary. But it seemed to Mike almost as if he were gone already, that he had moved beyond the point where he could reach out to touch them. Their faces, loved and familiar, blurred before his eyes as though he looked at them through a mist.

His father cleared his throat before shoving a dog-eared, plain, tan paperback book into Mike’s hands. “Thought you might be able to use this sometime,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You and Julie used to like to sing some of these old songs when you were kids. Remember?”

Mike looked down at the book he held. It was his father’s old service hymnbook that he’d gotten as a young Marine at Sunday worship aboard a ship headed out to the South Pacific during World War II. Frank McRae wasn’t much of one to attend church, and the gift surprised Mike. Maybe spiritual things meant more to his father than he had thought.

It evidently surprised his mother too. “Oh, Frank, I didn’t think you paid any attention. Julie taught you those songs when you were just a toddler,” she added, lightly touching Mike’s shoulder. “The two of you sounded like little angels-” She stopped, her voice choking.

Mike could feel the heat rising to his face. To cover his embarrassment, he flipped open the worn cover and stared down at the inscription on the title page. No date, just the owner’s name: Frank McRae.

It was Mike’s turn to clear his throat. There was suddenly a lump in it despite his skepticism about anything that had to do with faith or religion.

“Well . . . cool. Thanks.”

Blinking back an unexpected prickle of tears, he glanced over at his mother, Maggie, who was thin and wan from surgery and chemotherapy for ovarian cancer. His sister, Julie, hovered near her, still in her white nurse’s uniform after coming straight to the airport from the hospital where she worked. Behind her stood her husband, Dan, holding their daughter, Amy.

“I know you’ve got a lot to carry already, but-”

Mike waved his father’s words away. “It isn’t heavy, Dad, and who knows. You lugged it through all those battlefields, and you made it home. Maybe it’ll bring me good luck too.”

On impulse, he pulled a pen out of the breast pocket of his fatigues, clicked it open and added his name below his father’s, added the date too. Squatting down, he zipped open his bag and squeezed the hymnal in among his clothing.

When he straightened, his mother stepped forward to give him a fierce hug. “When you get there let us know you’re okay and what unit you’re assigned to. Write as often as you can.”

“I will, Mom.” He struggled to keep his voice from choking up. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“You get well, okay?” he whispered in her ear.

“I will. I’m going to beat this cancer, God willing.”

Inwardly Mike sighed, though for her sake he managed not to grimace. He and his mom had always been close, but he got awfully tired of all this God talk. On the other hand, if there really was a benign force somewhere out there in the universe, he supposed prayers couldn’t hurt.

Julie crowded in to put her arms around him as well. “I’m sure going to miss you, little brother.” She was crying openly, not making any attempt to brush away her tears.

“Aw, you’re going to be too busy with this little princess to think about me,” Mike returned awkwardly, reaching over to tickle three-year-old Amy under the chin.

She leaned out from her father’s arms, reaching for him. Dan surrendered the child, and she wound her arms around Mike’s neck, nestled her golden head against his shoulder, giggling, as he tugged on her braid.

Mike was relieved to see that Amy, at least, seemed not to comprehend the dangers he was heading toward or the length of the separation that lay before them. He turned to clasp Dan’s hand in a handshake he hoped would say everything he couldn’t.

Dan pushed his hand away and embraced him without speaking, pounding him on the back at the same time. Only Frank held back, frowning, as he stared through the windows at the plane.

Outside Mike could hear the engines revving up, signaling that it was time to board. The last of his buddies were heading outside. Hastily handing Amy back to Dan, Mike kissed his sister and mother, shook his father’s hand, then zipped up his parka and grabbed his duffel bag.

“Thirteen months,” he said, forcing a grin. “See you all back here next Christmas.”

“Don’t forget to tell Terry hello from all of us. Remind him Angie and the kids want him to stay safe and to hurry home. Give him a kiss from Angie,” Julie added with a wicked grin.

“Yeah, right!” Mike chuckled in spite of himself, then hefted his bag. “It sure will be good to see a friendly face when I get there. With luck, I’ll end up in Terry’s platoon.”

“It’ll be more than luck,” his mother said. “I’m going to pray about it. And we’ll be praying every minute until you’re home safe with us again.”

Mike gave her a crooked smile, then with a quick wave to all of them, turned and strode out the door and across the tarmac. By sheer willpower he kept his stride steady, refusing to let himself turn to look back at them. He knew that if he did, he’d never make it to the plane.

Every step of the way he could sense their eyes following him, and their love. When he reached the stairs, he ran up them, not letting himself think about what he was leaving behind or what lay before him.

Hurriedly he moved through the open door into the plane’s dim interior, feeling, like the severing of an embrace, the moment when he disappeared from their sight.

Interview with Charlene from Shakespeare Ashes by Chris DeBrie

Hello, Charlene. I promise I’ll be brief. I know you don’t enjoy this kind of thing.

No. I don’t like talking about myself. And I’ve had a really bad day. I rear-ended an illegal yesterday, and my insurance is trippin’ because of his status… oh, it’s a mess…

Tell me again why a few of your friends call you ‘Charlie’.

Erven gave me that name. I was going through it a while back. I got depressed for weeks straight. People even stopped asking me what was wrong. They got used to seeing me looking right through them. After a month of this, Erven said I reminded him of Charlie Brown, ’cause Charlie Brown was never optimistic. But usually he was right to expect the worst, don’t you think?

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

Sometimes I think about a family, feeling safe with people who care about me. Things I never had as a baby. But I just got laid off, man. It’s hard to think past today, this week. Rent, food, car, lights, phone. That stuff is not cheap, and those are just the basics, if you wanna survive and move around.

Do you have good friends?

I have friends. I think my best friends were the ones from first grade. Ever since then, it’s like crabs in a barrel… but there are a few good ones. Erv is. My adopted mother Sam is. To most people she is my “aunt”. I hate too many questions.

We’ll end there. Thank you, Charlene.

I just want to get in my warm bed…

Shakespeare Ashes by Chris DeBrie

Donna wonders how she can forgive and forget.

Charlene doesn’t quite know what she wants.

Robbie is usually thinking about which honey he plans to bag.

And Erven just does his best to obliterate the world…

Their lives and histories interconnecting, these characters navigate that uncertain time between classrooms and the wide-open world.

About Chris DeBrie

Chris DeBrie was born in North Carolina, creating comics and stories as soon as he could hold a pencil. He wrote the millennial love story As Is as a ninth grader, publishing it a decade later. Selective Focus was the result of those homemade comic screenplays. With Shakespeare Ashes, he pulls the reader into the raw thoughts of four very different characters. DeBrie is a fan of photography, learning languages, and clean water. He lives in Virginia.

http://www.washyourhandsproductions.com/

Interview with Anjali Kapadia from THE SARI SHOP WIDOW by Shobhan Bantwal

Shobhan: Hey, Anjali, do you ever wonder why I set your story in Edison, New Jersey and not India, like my first two stories?

Anjali: It’s crossed my mind a couple of times, but I didn’t venture to ask you because I’m quite content living in the U.S. I was afraid that if I asked, you just might decide to give me a sequel and put me in some humourless little town in India. Who needs that kind of aggravation?

Shobhan: Excuse me! Did you say humourless little town? I happen to have set my two previous novels in a beautiful and picturesque hamlet, very similar to the one I was born and raised in. And there’s plenty of humour there.

Anjali: Really? Who would have thought there’s a real town by the name of Palgaum? I could have sworn you said it was fictitious in your author’s note in those books.

Shobhan: Sure it’s fictitious, but everything about it is very similar to my hometown of Belgaum, which I’m very fond and proud of, I’ll have you know.

Anjali: Oh, well, sorry to hurt your feelings, but I grew up in the U.S. so I’m grateful that my story takes place in Edison. I wouldn’t want it happening anywhere else.

Shobhan: I have to admit Edison’s a neat place, especially the area called Little India, where your store, Silk & Sapphires shines like a queen amongst the ordinary clothing stores. Very impressive!

Anjali: Thanks. I’ve worked hard to make it what it is, and so have my mom and dad. It’s our whole life; we work seven days a week.

Shobhan: I’ve never owned a business. So tell me, what does it feel like to imagine and create such lovely clothes and jewellery and watch people admiring and wearing them?

Anjali: It’s a great feeling. When an idea for a design starts swirling in my mind, I sketch it first, then have an expert tailor or jeweller make it. To see the finished product light up someone’s eyes is an emotion that can’t be described. You know something, it’s not unlike your idea for a novel, which you plot and create, and then readers tell you how much they enjoyed it.

Shobhan: You’re right. My ideas turn into multicultural books and yours turn into exotic clothes and accessories. We’re not that different, come to think of it. In fact, we’re so much alike.

Anjali: Don’t get carried away now. I hate to remind you, but you’re a middle-aged woman in an arranged marriage while I’m a young woman with a flair for fashion. Unlike you I married for love the first time around and if I ever marry again, it’ll be for love, too.

Shobhan: I realize that, my dear. Why do you think I’ve introduced this good-looking, mysterious, and sexy half Indian-half British hunk, Rishi Shah, into your life? Now do yourself a favour and go welcome him with a smile instead of giving him a suspicious frown.

Anjali: He may be a hunk, but believe me, if he’s my stingy, dictatorial uncle’s friend and partner I’m damn well going to be suspicious. There’s something very strange about him, and my uncle is behaving very oddly, too.

Shobhan: All right, Anjali, despite my advice I guess you’re going to be difficult after all. It’s your nature. But then, that’s what makes yours a good juicy story – full of conflict, passion, and high emotions. Enjoy the rollercoaster ride with your Indo-American hero.

Anjali: Hey, I know I’m stubborn and prickly, but I do appreciate what you did for me. Thanks for making me a heroine in your novel. Appreciate the generous gesture. No one’s ever made me a heroine before. I’m having a ball being the centre of attention in your book. And hey, don’t forget to drop by for my Grand Reopening Sale at Silk & Sapphires.

Thanks to The Plot for hosting me and Anjali, the protagonist of THE SARI SHOP WIDOW. The book is available at all U.S. and Canadian bookstores and online booksellers.

An excerpt of the novel, the book trailer video, recipes, contests, information on my previous books, short stories, and contact information are on my website: www.shobhanbantwal.com

The Sari Shop Widow by Shobhan Bantwal

Pungent curry, sweet fried onions, incense, colorful beads, and lush fabrics – THE SARI SHOP WIDOW is a novel set on the streets of Edison, New Jersey’s Little India, where a young businesswoman rediscovers the magic of love and family.

When Anjali Kapadia’s posh sari boutique in New Jersey is on the verge of financial ruin, her wealthy uncle from India comes to her rescue.

But the wily, dictatorial uncle arrives with some unpleasant surprises—a young Indo-British partner named Rishi Shah for one — and a startling secret that disturbs Anjali.

Falling in love with the mysterious Shah only adds to Anjali’s burgeoning list of complications. Torn between her loyalty to her family and her business on the one hand and her growing attraction for a man who could never fit into her life on the other, Anjali turns to her family and cultural roots to make a life-altering decision.

About the Author

Shobhan Bantwal calls her writing “Bollywood in a Book,” romantic, colorful, action-packed tales, rich with elements of her own Indian culture — stories that entertain and educate. She is an award-winning women’s fiction author of three published novels and contributed to an anthology of short stories.

Shobhan writes for a variety of publications including The Writer magazine, India Abroad, Little India, U.S. 1, Desi Journal, India Currents, Overseas Indian, and New Woman India. Her short stories have won honors/awards in contests sponsored by Writer’s Digest, New York Stories and New Woman magazines.

You can visit her website at ShobhanBantwal.com

Read an Excerpt

For the second time in ten years her life was beginning to come apart. Anjali Kapadia stood still for a minute, trying to absorb the news. Could it possibly be a mistake? But it wasn’t; she’d heard it clearly. Despite her best efforts to curb it, the initial shock wave refused to ebb. The seemingly harmless bit of information was all it had taken to shatter the image of a satisfying lifestyle and career.

Her mind in overdrive, she started to pace the length of the tasteful and elegant boutique. Her boutique—her baby—her artistic and inventive skills put to optimum use in creating a fairytale store worthy of movie stars, models, and beauty queens.

Technically the business belonged to her and her parents as equal partners, but it was Anjali’s creativity and vision that had turned it into a classy and successful enterprise—at least until recently. It stood apart like a maharani, a queen amongst the ordinary, plain-vanilla sari and clothing shops of New Jersey’s “Little India.”

The area known as Little India, located in Edison, was crammed with sari shops, jewelry stores, restaurants, grocery markets and souvenir shops. It was a small slice of India buried in central New Jersey, a quaint neighborhood that smelled of pungent curry, fried onions, ripe mangoes, incense, and masala chai. Strong tea laced with spices and oodles of thick, creamy milk.

Even the store’s name was Anjali’s brainstorm. Overrun with ho-hum and even dumpy names and ugly storefronts, Little India was badly in need of some class. So she’d called her store Silk & Sapphires. It had a nice ring to it, and according to Hindu astrology, a sapphire supposedly dispelled the destructive influence of the fiery planet Shanee. Saturn. The store’s window displayed the most elegant mannequins and rare jewelry to give it a boutique flavor rather than just a sari-cum-bauble shop.

The interior was done in soft cream and shimmering blue to fit the name. Tear-drop crystal chandeliers hung from a vaulted ceiling. Strategically placed recessed lights highlighted the displays, mirrored walls created the illusion of space and light, and dense cream carpeting covered the sales floor and fitting rooms.

Shopping at Silk & Sapphires was meant to be a unique and indulgent experience.

The boutique also carried jewelry—one-of-a-kind creations of precious and semi precious gems fit for an empress or a blushing bride.

Nearly every piece of clothing the store sold was designed by Anjali, each outfit envisioned, then meticulously planned, cut, sewn, and embellished to her demanding specifications. She took pride in finding the right fabrics, trimmings, and tailors to make her designs evolve from an idea swirling in her brain to divine ensembles. Granted, her clothes and accessories were far more expensive than some, but they were worth the money. Every design was exclusive. Many of them were award winners in fashion shows and competitions.

She glanced at them and exhaled a long sigh. The colorful silks, the clingy chiffons, and the gossamer tissue-crepes were draped in an exquisite array on their pretty satin hangers—row upon row of lush, costly clothes. The pearls, the rainbow of beads, and the jewel-tone sequins lovingly sewn into the borders, sleeves, necklines, and bodices of the sleek garments sparkled and winked at her as she strode up and down the aisles, again and again.

What had gone wrong? How? When?

Could she be kissing her dress design business and her beloved store goodbye? If so, how soon? Catching her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the row of clothes, she realized her eyes were filled with resentment and frustration. Darn it! She rarely let bitterness prevail over her, and she wouldn’t do so now. She was a woman who liked to laugh, although there hadn’t been much to laugh about in the last decade—not since she’d cremated Vikram.

How could her parents have concealed such a significant problem from her for so long? And how could they even dream up something so preposterous to address the problem? How could they jeopardize her career as well as theirs with one phone call?

She wouldn’t stand for it! She couldn’t.

Interview with Jesse Sanders from Stewards of the Flame by Sylvia Engdahl

Carla: I’d like to know more about you, Jesse — about what life was like for you before you were detained here. I’ve never been in space, after all. I’ll never have a chance to leave this planet. So tell me about your ship.

Jesse: There’s not a lot to tell. As you know, it was a freighter. Believe me, being Captain of a freighter is not exciting. It’s not what I dreamed about when I was younger, certainly. I thought when I joined Fleet that I’d get a chance to explore new worlds.

Carla: Surely you’ve visited a lot of them in twenty years.

Jesse: Not new ones — just well-established colonies, and they’re all pretty much the same. They’ve got better living conditions than Earth’s, of course, and they’re less crowded, and there’s a lot less poverty and crime. And in most of them, except for this one, there’s less government interference with people’s lives. Still, I haven’t seen one where I’d want to settle.

Carla: You were born on Earth. I suppose you were glad to get away.

Jesse: That was all I cared about when I was a kid. I left to enter Fleet Academy the day after I finished school, and I’ve never looked back. But the last few years I haven’t been looking forward, either. There just isn’t anything to hope for, Carla. I’m a Captain. I do my job well and my crewmates look up to me. I’ve had relationships with a few, though I’ve never met one I wanted to marry. So what’s left? I’m never going to be promoted to a starliner, much less a colonizer.

Carla: Because of the alleged drinking problem?

Jesse: Maybe. I suppose it could be on my record if some world’s port authorities spotted me in a bar. That would be ironic, considering that I drink on shore leave just to forget the frustration. As I told you, I’ve never been drunk on duty and I don’t drink at all while aboard ship. Nobody has ever questioned my performance. It was just bad luck that this world’s medical police happened to arrest me when no one from my crew was around to protest.

Carla: Our laws against unhealthy behavior can’t be blamed on bad luck — they’re the result of this colony’s population having lost all regard for personal freedom. Bad as your experience in the Hospital was, Jesse, you haven’t seen but half of it yet.

Jesse: Well, I’m sure I don’t want to see the other half. People’s personal health is their own business, not the government’s, as long as they’re not hurting anybody but themselves by what they do or don’t do.

Carla: Here, they’ve made it the government’s business — its main business. Would you fight against that, if you were a resident?

Jesse: I don’t even want to think about becoming a resident of this planet! And yet I may not be able to get away. If I’m listed as AWOL from Fleet I’ll lose my rank and won’t be able to get passage offworld. I’ll be stranded here for the rest of my life with nothing to do. I’m not qualified for any of the jobs available in a backwater colony like this.

Carla: If it weren’t for that — if you could get involved in something really worthwhile, not just opposing our tyrannical laws but something bigger — would you mind leaving space?

Jesse: No, I don’t think I would. I’ve had enough of space, given the fact that there’s no challenge left there for me. But I can’t imagine what kind of thing you’re talking about. Look at you — you’re obviously capable of holding a much better job than that dead end data-technician position you’re stuck in. So there can’t be a lot of scope for talent here.

Carla: There are other talents besides what people are paid for.

Jesse: If you have some and an opportunity to use them, I’m glad. But I haven’t got any talents besides those related to my work. I’m not selling myself short — I’m a top-rated pilot and an efficient officer, and I have what it takes to command a crew. I’d even have the ability to command a colonizer if given the right training. None of that would be of any good to me here, Carla. And even if it would . . . there’d be no meaning in it.

Not that I’ve ever figured out just what sort of meaning I’m looking for. I guess when I was young I just assumed it was out there among the stars somewhere, if my ship took me far enough. I somehow thought that to keep on searching would help humankind advance. That was pretty naive. I know better now.

Carla: Do you? I’m not so sure it was naive. I think you might someday be surprised.

Author’s Note: As the nature of the plot is revealed gradually in the book, to refer to any of its events in a way assuming Jesse’s knowledge of them would be a spoiler. I had to write from his perspective at the very beginning of the story before he has any idea what is about to happen to him.

Stewards of the Flame by Sylvia Engdahl

When burned-out starship captain Jesse Sanders is seized by a dictatorial medical regime and detained on the colony planet Undine, he has no idea that he is about to be plunged into a bewildering new life that will involve ordeals and joys beyond anything he has ever imagined, as well as the love of a woman with powers that seem superhuman.

Still less does he suspect that he must soon take responsibility for the lives of people he has come to care about and the preservation of their hopes for the future of humankind.

This controversial novel—winner of a bronze medal in the 2008 Independent Publisher (IPPY) book awards—deals with government-imposed health care, with end-of-life issues, and with the so-called paranormal powers of the human mind. Despite being set in the distant future on another world, it’s not intended just for science fiction fans.

Blogcritics said, “The story is compelling, and drew me in from the first few pages. . . . Stewards of the Flame is a thought-provoking novel that may make you question the authority and direction of modern Western medical practices. I recommend it to anyone who enjoys reading genre fiction with some substance to it.”

About the Author

Sylvia Engdahl is best known as the author of highly-acclaimed Young Adult science fiction novels, one of which was a Newbery Honor book and a finalist for the 2002 Book Sense Book of the Year in the Rediscovery category. However, her trilogy Children of the Star, originally written for teens, was republished as adult SF, and she is now writing fiction only for adults.

Engdahl is a strong advocate of space colonization and has maintained a widely-read space section of her website for many years. She lives in Eugene, Oregon, and currently works as a freelance editor of nonfiction anthologies.

More information about Stewards of the Flame, the topics with which it deals, and its newly-released sequel can be found at www.stewardsoftheflame.com. Her main website is at www.sylviaengdahl.com.

Pump Up Your Book Promotion Presents…The 12 Days of Christmas December Blog Tour Special

As our Christmas gift to you, Pump Up Your Book Promotion is offering a special discount for those authors wishing to tour in December. Sign up for our 12 Days of Christmas December Blog Tour Special before Oct. 30 ‘09 and you will receive this great book promotion package:

* One virtual book tour (can only be purchased for the month of December)!
* Twelve (12) blog stops (Dec. 1 – 16) appearing on blogs geared specifically for your book, with possibilities of appearing at Reuters, USA Today, Chicago Times, Washington Post and other high profile news sites!
* Full publicity including but not restricted to daily postings about your book on social networks and other online media outlets!
* Personalized tour banner!
*Personalized tour page on tour blog and our company blog – double the exposure!
* Our 12 Days of Christmas Tour Trailer including your book information which will be uploaded to YouTube and other video media outlets!

The special price for this package is only $199 and only available for purchase between now and Oct. 30 ‘09. This discount cannot be applied after the deadline.

Payments can be made via PayPal (Paypal accepts most major credit cards), money order or check.

Space is limited and will be on a first come, first serve basis.
Thank you and let us help you pump up that book!

The Pump Up Your Book Promotion Team
www.pumpupyourbookpromotion.com

Interview with Liz Peterson from ‘My Son, John’ by Kathi Macias

Q: Liz, you’re respected in the community—married to a successful attorney with one grown son and a teenaged daughter—and you’ve been a Christian since you were a child. How did the news of your mother’s murder affect the lifestyle you had known for so long?

A: It was as if someone had dropped an atomic bomb in my backyard. What it didn’t kill outright was quickly tainted by the fallout. Nothing seemed familiar any longer. Life as I’d known it was over.

Q: Tell us some of the immediate emotions you experienced soon after receiving this tragic news.

A: Shock was primary, though grief and loss and confusion all swirled around me, vying for attention. And of course, in the background, was this nagging thought that something about John’s reaction to what had happened just wasn’t right.

Q: And yet you seemed unwilling and/or unable to accept the truth when John was arrested. Tell us about what was going on in your heart and mind then.

A: Without a doubt, the strongest emotion in play once John was arrested was denial. Even when I heard he’d confessed, I simply could not believe that the little boy I had loved for twenty-three years could do such a horrible thing.

Q: Once you were able to get past the denial and admit the truth about what had happened, where did your emotions take you then?

A: It was so much easier to stay in denial, which is why I clung to it so desperately. Once I faced the truth, I then had to deal with issues no mother should ever have to experience—primarily, how can I still love my son unconditionally after what he had done? Did I even know him anymore? Could we ever have a close relationship again?

Q: What was the catalyst that finally moved you from denial to truth, and from hopelessness to healing?

A: God used many people to speak truth into my life, and finally brought it all together when I realized my heavenly Father still loved me unconditionally and had never left me, even in the worst moments of my darkest ordeal. Slipping back into His arms was the best move I ever made.

Q: If you could give one piece of advice to someone who is even now wrestling with the need to forgive something so horrible that it seems impossible, what would it be?

A: There is an old saying that refusing to forgive someone is like drinking poison and then waiting for the other person to die. Unforgiveness benefits no one. There is no sin too terrible, no act too vicious, no breach too wide that it can’t be healed by God’s unconditional love.

God gave us the example of how to deal with the hurts and injustices that inevitably come our way in this world when He sent His only Son to die a horrible death in our place. Why? To pay the required price for restoration of relationship between God and man. God’s heart is to see relationships restored.

The Scriptures tell us that Jesus was in the world, reconciling the world to Himself; now He sits at the right hand of the Father, and He has given to us the assignment of completing that “ministry of reconciliation.” That’s why Jesus came, and that’s why we’re still here—to bring reconciliation to broken relationships.