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THE END

"The End".  It's a bittersweet sentence.  The end of what? The end of whom? Maybe, it's just the beginning.  

As a writer, 'the end' takes a long time.  I look forward to finally being able to write it. The ending is difficult to write, at least for me.  As a reader, I often am sad when I reach the end of a good book.  I want the story to continue, what happens next? I suppose that's what sequels are for.

"The End" is a badge of accomplishment, a finish line, a statement that a goal has been achieved.  The End is synonymous with "Whoo Hoo!  I did it!"

As a runner, the finish line is just a stepping stone.  This race is over, when's the next one?  After writing ten, now eleven books, I must have the same mind set for writing.  It's not quite so easy to pick up and write a new novel as it is to put one foot in front of the other and run another 3, 6, 9, 26.2 miles.  Although, I must admit the older I get the running is becoming more difficult than the writing.

So, you're asking, have you just written "The End"?   

Why, yes, yes I have.  Thank you for asking as my thoughts wander and my fingers take me to another place because I'm thinking of something else to write and whether or not I want to run 25 miles in the 98% humidity tomorrow.  

Ready? Set? HERE IT IS!!!

WILDWOOD

My husband, bless him, says this is my best book yet.  He says that every time.  I believe he thinks he's not allowed to say otherwise because I feed him and he sleeps with me. What do you think?  

I have the paperback coming out soon on Amazon and also the ebook is available on Smashwords.com.   Check my website (www.colleenwait.com) on Fridays for Freebie Fridays through Smashwords.

Newsflash!

Local Christian Writer Releases 10^th Book

            A local woman from Apopka, Colleen Wait, is set to release her tenth book, Jacob’s Well, in May.  Wait is a Christian-Inspirational writer, blogger and free-lance editor, and has been publishing her full-length books through Create Space and Amazon Kindle for about five years.

            While cranking out two books a year may not seem like a big deal to the average Joe, it definitely stands out when you realize these books came about in the midst of a chaotic full-time schedule of medical transcription and raising two children of her own, plus two “bonus” daughters with husband, Mark.  Add the many hours of volunteer service to youth and the homeless at the West Orange Church of Christ, in Winter Garden, and ten books is definitely a big deal. “Big,” however, is not a word anyone would use to describe first impressions of Wait.

            One of the first things you notice about Colleen Wait is her stature.  Wait is tiny, as in vertically challenged, standing at barely five feet.  She’s also lean, as in marathon distance runner lean.   As a matter of fact, if all you ever knew about Colleen Wait is her dogged determination to master the 26.2 miles of a grueling marathon you’d walk away impressed.  But that determination has been brewing for decades, and was borne out of an even more remarkable towering faith.  And once you know the height of her faith, Wait stands taller than anyone in the room.

            Writing has been an outlet for this naturally shy woman since her challenging childhood.  The result was an avenue for creative expression, as well as a coping mechanism for her hardships.  Those hardships are the foundation on which she built the soaring faith that is the source of all her stories.

            In Jacob’s Well, Wait tells the story of Analeigh Kendrick, a teenage girl who is led by her faith in God to sow goodness in the midst of bad circumstances.  It is a story of planting seeds, both agricultural and spiritual, in the face of hardship and opposition.  Wait says she hopes readers will walk away with a sense of hope, and will be encouraged to pursue their own opportunities to share goodness in challenging times.

            Wait is a genuinely reserved person who says she wishes she could be more like the main character in Jacob’s Well. 

            “I’m not outgoing or outspoken.  I get knots in my stomach when talking to people [I don’t know well].  I force myself, but it doesn’t come easily,” said Wait.  “I know my gift is in the written word, not the verbal.”  Now Wait uses her writing in an effort to help others who may be struggling.

[Other books written by Colleen Wait are:  Freedom Race, Captured, Lessons Learned at Summer Camp, Sanctuary, Remnant, Man in the Mirror, Love on the Run, Mount Mission, and Black Purple Sky.  All are available through Amazon.com and Create Space. You can follow the author on: colleenwaitwrites.blogspot.com ]

             -Laura Ann Day

****  Jacob's Well will be free on Amazon 5/10/2013 and 5/11/2013 ****

The Apopka Chief 5/24/2013

Jacob's Well

I am thrilled to announce the release of my tenth book, Jacob's Well.   It is currently available on Amazon as a kindle and will be released in the next week as a paperback.   

"Analeigh Kendrick is given news that she soon realizes is opportunity. Eager to do God's work she turns a small town upside down when she is not intimidated by a preacher who has firm control over it and the church. She sees through him, learns what the town needs, and most importantly, relies solely on God for her every move. Analeigh plants seeds in everyone she meets giving the gift of life."

May 10th and 11th I am having a New Release Promotion.  This book will be free on Amazon.com.

Challenges of writing Christian Fiction

Book number ten is well underway.  I didn't begin my writing career as a "Christian writer".  Rather I began as a struggling Christian who writes.  My first two books, Freedom Race and Captured, are not specifically Christian. I don't market them as Christian.  As I grew as a woman and as a Christian my books evolved and the themes naturally gravitated towards Christianity.  My characters are strong women with real problems, issues, imperfect lives.  I think I sometimes have difficulty marketing my books as Christian because they are not squeaky clean.  Some, like Angel in Lessons Learned, have lived extremely sinful lives.  Some Christians will argue that my characters are inappropriate and should not be read by Christians.  Okay, so be it.  Christians who cannot handle people who have lived less than perfect lives should not read my books - or maybe they should.

I want non-Christians, struggling Christians, baby Christians to read my books and connect with the characters. See how they handle struggles and life and how they grew and gave their lives to God.  Remnant actually started out as a "non-Christian" story.   Being a Christian, the book naturally took a turn and looked for a higher power.  Some may be pleasantly surprised by the ending.  I know for a fact, some people were miffed at the ending.  That's okay, too.

My challenge right now is, how do I teach the Good News of Jesus Christ in fiction?  I played with that in Man in the Mirror.  This book, I want to take it a step further.  However, it needs to not sound "preachy".  I'm about to write a Bible study scene.  Should I write the entire study?  Should I write parts of it and narrate the rest?  Christians are instructed to "go into the world" and take the Good News.  I feel led to do this through fiction.  I have readers of this blog and of my books from all over the world. If God gives me the words to write in this book I believe I can plant seeds that God can grow.  Challenge accepted.

To God be the Glory.

I would love to hear from you.  How do you feel when you read about Jesus in fiction?  How have you seen it done well?  Poorly?  I've read a lot so I can give my own examples but I want to hear from you!

New Release

"Love on the Run" will soon be here!!  It's tentative release date is July 1, 2011

"Love on the Run" is the 7th book by Colleen Wait. In this book, Marnie is a college student with a bright future.  She has great friends, a loving family, a boyfriend, and plans of furthering her education.  On the night of her engagement things begin to unravel and tragedy strikes.  Things are not as they seemed.  Truths are revealed as lies. To vent her frustrations and prevent a mental breakdown Marnie takes up running where she finds herself, her confidence, and eventually finds her joy. 

Look for "Love on the Run" on ebookshelves near you, Smashwords as well as Amazon.

Sanctuary:

This is the third installment:

Laying on her back, looking around with her eyes, Claire saw no tall buildings, no trees, no birds, no cars, no people.  People, where were all the people? Laying before Claire - a young woman, pretty, honor student on the fast track to a top notch university, unmarried and absolutely terrified - was a wasteland.  The four-story concrete block church that had stood above her bunker was now nothing more than rubble. Old crumbling rubble. In places the blocks were three to four feet high, but mostly, only one block or less.  From her vantage point, laying there on the ground in the dark, all she could see were mounds of broken concrete and a few steel beams.  In every direction her eyes could take her, Claire saw blackness.  Black sky that met black horizon.  All the structures had been leveled. By what, she wondered? There was no visible sign of fire or bomb, but she didn't have much to go on at this vantage point.

Cautiously, Claire raised herself to her elbows, then to a sitting position, and finally, slowly, stood upright.   Being outside, fully exposed to the elements, her senses were reeling, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it. She actually jumped at the sound, thinking it was coming from the distance.  The breeze began to blow gently and again a fine mist began to fall from the heavens. Oh how wonderful a bath would be!  The coolness of the drops on her skin sent a shiver up her spine momentarily distracting her from the  gloomy environment.  After looking around at her surroundings briefly, the next thing that caught her eye was a faint light on the distant horizon. Is that the sun or fire, she wondered, staring at the light until her eyes began to ache from the light.   Raising her arms out to her sides, Claire turned around slowly, seeing and hearing and feeling and smelling her new world for the first time, all the while being showered by the mist.

From the standing position, Claire once again surveyed her surroundings.  Where were all the buildings, street signs, highways, roads, trees, plants, or any sign of life ?  All were leveled.  All.   She saw no intact buildings, only the horizon, in every direction.  What did this, she wondered again and again?  There was no sign of fire or bomb, hurricane or tornado - or was there?  For as far as she could see the destruction appeared to have happened a long, long time ago. How long had she been in the bunker? No fresh signs of destruction, no smell of smoke or even of decay.  It was if she had gone into the bunker in Florida and exited onto a different continent, a dry and desolate desert.

Claire's next thought, which had been at the back of her mind for a long while was of survival.   "I'm alive. There must be others. If there are, where are they?  God, you wouldn't save me, just to live and die alone, would you?" Doubt began to creep in, then fear in the realization that she might just be all alone in the world.  Alone in the bunker, she at least had felt relatively safe in the small space, safe and secure inside the fortified walls. There, she had not thought about the future, of being alone, about what would happen in the event she were to leave. Now, outside, in the vast emptiness of what used to be her home, Claire looked back down into the hole, and thought, "Maybe I should go back down.  I was safe there.  I could leave the door cracked a bit to hear..no...no...I'm here... outside and alive.  Besides, I have only enough food and water for a few more days.  Oh God, what now?" 

Remembering it was God who told her it was time to go, Claire built an alter of remembrance out of the pile of concrete blocks, then knelt to pray. "Dear God. Help me.  I know it was you who told me to go.  I did.  I'm out.  Now what do I do?  Where do I go?  Was it truly you who told me to go or am I going crazy from being locked up for so long?  Lord help me. I must be here for a reason.  Please God, show me your reason for my being. In Jesus name, Amen."   Claire continued kneeling at the alter for a long while, listening, waiting, listening, waiting, slowing her breathing so her heart rate would lower to normal, inhale 2, 3, 4, exhale 2, 3, 4, inhale 3, 3, 4, exhale, 2, 3, 4.   Finally, a calming peace flowed over Claire as she let out a deep long exhale.  The rain had stopped and a cool breeze began to blow.  Claire stood up, put on her  back pain and began to walk. 

Sanctuary, next excerpt:

This is the second installment of "Sanctuary": 

Claire wanted to jump up and run up the ladder as quickly as should could. "No", she thought, "I must be careful."  She forced her hands away from her eyes as slowly as she could.  Slowly, she lifted her face up towards the heavens to feel for sunlight, but felt only raindrops.  Very faint light, so light she would not have noticed it before,  filtered through the clouds and touched her eyelids.  It startled her and hurt her head so she jerked her face towards the floor.  Remembering one very important item in a locker in the back of the room, Claire darted towards it, retrieving a pair of sunglasses.

Sunglasses on, Claire pulled out the rain poncho and draped it over the backpack before lifting the pack to her shoulders.  It was heavy enough as it was, raindrops would make it much heavier, not to mention ruin all the things inside.  "My God is so mighty," Claire sang softly as she gripped a rung with her right hand, "so strong and so true," as she gripped a rung with her left, "there's nothing my God cannot do." Closing her eyes, she took a slow deep breath and raised her chin up to feel and hear what was above her.  The rain had stopped. No light filtered through her glasses.  Was it night time?  Had she lost track of night and day in the deep bowels of her bunker where there was no day? She had no watch, no need to know the time.  After all, she had no appointments, no lunch date, no job to hurry to.  No one was expecting her.

"My God is so mighty," right foot up, "so strong and so true," left foot up. The bars were damp from the earlier rain so Claire wrapped her arms around the ladder and gripped the bars from behind.   Falling was not an option, she told herself. "There is nothing," right hand, left foot, "my God cannot do," left, right, "for me."  Slowly, up she went, counting the bars at each grasp of her hands as she listened to the pounding of her heart, which seemed to echo off the walls of the bunker.

Suddenly, Claire froze.  She was more than halfway up, but something startled her, aroused her senses.  Her skin prickled, her ears were alive with the sound.  Familiar sound and feeling, but oh so very distant.  Claire thought about how the deaf might feel when they heard sounds for the first time or how the blind felt the first time their sight was restored.  She was neither, but had seen and heard very little in her time underground.  While locked away from the outside world, alone in the dim light and then total darkness there had been no sounds from the outside.  No cries, no knocking on the door, only the vibrations of the shaking earth.  She had talked and sung to herself for a while, then grew tired of the sound of her voice.  This day was the first time she had spoken out loud in quite some time. Claire tried to imagine what the color of the sky looked like, the color of grass, the color of roses, and the sound of laughter of little children.

It came again, the sound, bringing her out of her thoughts. It was the sound of a fresh breeze, which gently coaxed her on.  A few more steps and the top of her head was at the surface.  Here, the breeze was a bit stronger, just enough to blow a single strand of hair across her face and tickle her ear.  "Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord, " she sang in a whisper, "Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord. And He will lift you up". Claire looked straight up and all around.  The sky was dark.  She could just barely make out the shapes of clouds. "Thank you God for lifting me up," she prayed as she took another step up, lifted her right arm out of the hole, and onto the ground. The damp, hard ground.  Claire's eyes and nose were now out of the bunker. Her home and prison beneath her feet.

Fear now began to creep over her.  She had been safe inside her bunker.  Alone, isolated, in the dark, but most importantly she had been safe.  Now that she had exposed herself to the outside world, was she safe? What was out here? Who was out here?  Was the air safe? Was the water safe? Would she die the second she stepped foot outside? Maybe going out was a bad idea. Maybe she should go back in.  "Wait a minute," Claire scolded herself, "who told me to go in the first place?  Had Peter been safe when he walked on water?  Yes, because Jesus told him to go.  He only began to sink when he doubted." For another moment, Claire questioned whether or not it was really God who told her to leave. Perhaps she was hallucinating, perhaps it wasn't God. Perhaps. Clair looked down the shaft into the bunker.  Perhaps she should have faith.

Dirt. Claire gathered a handful of damp earth and held it for a moment before refocusing her attention on the task at hand. One last step with her right foot, shift weight to exposed arm, step with left foot and thrust her body onto the earth above.

Laying motionless on her belly on the slightly damp earth, Claire shed tears of joy, tears of the realization that this was a new beginning. One of uncertainty, but definitely a new beginning.  Several minutes passed as she collected herself, caught her breath from the climb.  Claire took off the backpack, then slowly rolled onto her back. A feeling of doom began to spread over her entire body as she looked around her with her eyes, not daring to move.  This was not the world she had locked herself away from.  This was no longer the Florida she loved and called home. It was not the vacation capital of the world any longer.  But, what had she expected? After all that had happened...she know it would be different... but this?  This place was unrecognizable.

Sanctuary

Sanctuary

The following is an excerpt from "Sanctuary":

CH.  1

It is time.

Claire awoke with a shiver.

It is time.

Claire rubbed her eyes to erase the dream, then sleepily yawned and tried to go back to sleep.

It is time to go. Get up.

This time the voice was unmistakably clear. It was not a dream. The voice was calm, clear, and soothing.  Claire took a slow deep breath to calm her nerves then said aloud, to whom she wasn't sure, "Is it safe?"

Go.

Claire held her breath, listening intently for more. No more came.  It is time. Get up. Go. She repeated these instructions over and over in her head.  Could it really be? Was the voice who she thought it was or had she lost her mind?  Slowly, quietly, as if she made a sound she would miss the voice, Claire, young and alone, frightened but excited, lifted herself off her cot and gathered her belongings. She knew who the voice belonged to.

The room was dark, had been for nearly a week since her self-powered generator broke.   The batteries had given out just days after construction of the generator was completed. Claire chuckled to herself as she caressed the seat of the old bicycle frame, proud of her accomplishment.  Candles were not safe here, but there was a bag of them stowed away in a corner.   They were found along with a box of matches and put in her backpack.   Food and water had been rationed sparingly, and were running out fast.  Only a few days left.  Claire put all that she had in the backpack.   On the cot were her clothes.  She found what she needed and put them on, slowly one leg at a time,  feeling the unfamiliar, uncomfortable fabric against her skin.  Alone and in the dark, they had been unneeded and cumbersome, now they felt scratchy on her skin.  How long had it been since she had bathed, washed her clothes?  Weeks, months? Time had lost all meaning.  In the far corner of the rectangular room were two unused cots with their blankets neatly folded on top.  Claire rolled them up together and fastened them to her backpack.  New blankets for a new beginning, she thought.  Rain gear that had been stored in a locker were unpacked, then placed into the backpack.   The pack was beginning to get heavy. 

Claire scoured the small room with her eyes, long-adjusted to the dark, remembering the day she first arrived, not wanting to remember.  She pushed those horrifying thoughts out as she looked from box to chair, to shelf to ventilation duct, to waste disposal cabinet thinking of what else she should bring, what to leave behind.  She saw what she needed on a top shelf. Thrown there in anger, but not forgotten.  Delicately fingering the leather she prayed, "Please forgive my anger, God, I know it is you who have kept me safe and you who now tells me to go."  Claire pressed the Bible cover close to her heart and wept.  The pages had long been destroyed.  "Protect me Lord. I am afraid."

The quiet girl with the sad eyes and aching heart, who had dreamed of and dreaded this day, wiped her tears, turned, and stared hard at the stairs that led to the outside world.  What lay ahead she did not know, what was must be left in the deepest part of her memory. Not forgotten, just put in a safe place as to not haunt her future.

Ten steps forward and twenty-five, straight up.  Seems easy enough, but Claire thought she lacked the courage to take the first step. NOW.  The voice was urgent, demanding.  "Okay, God", she said, "I'm going". Thoughts ran through her mind. What would she find?  It must be okay, God said to go.  He wouldn't be so insistent if it were unsafe. Would he?  Would she be among friends? Who, what would she find? There, she made the first step. Left, right, left, right. Slowly, painfully, heart beating faster and faster. Claire closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then another, hand trembling, she found the valve.

The bunker door was 25 steps up a metal ladder, but the mechanism to open it was right in front of her.  "Please God, help me remember how to open the door."   The valve in her hand was a lock.  She didn't remember why the valve was to be turned first, she just knew it was. Hoped it was.  It felt rusty.  Would it break if she turned the wrong way?  Would it break if she turned the right way?  Deep breath, which way to turn it? Claire wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, gripped the valve with her right hand and pushed down, to the right as hard as she could.  Click. The valve opened. "Whew!"  she let out a deep sigh of relief.

Next to the valve was a large steel wheel about 20 inches across. It sat higher up on the wall, its center about level with her forehead.  It, too, felt rusty at the joint where it connected to the bunker wall.  Claire gripped it with both hands, one on each side.  Which way?  Lefty loosey, right tight or to the right just like the first one?   First she gently nudged right.  Nothing.   Nudged left.  Nothing.  Claire stood and stared at the wheel, gripping so hard her hands began to hurt. Which way? Lefty loosey.  That has to be it.  She attempted to turn the wheel.  It didn't budge. "Oh God, help.  Am I tightening it instead?"  She took a deep breath and tried harder. To her amazement and much relief it moved.  An inch.   A drop of sweat dripped into her eye.  Not wanting to let go, she rubbed her eye with her shoulder.   Slowly, Claire slid her right hand over to her left while turning to the side of the wheel.  "Here goes nothing," she muttered then slid both hands as high up as she could so as to hang from the wheel. Suddenly she dropped all her weight and lifted her feet.   The wheel gave a creaky groan, turned, and Claire fell to the floor, hands still gripping the wheel.

It had turned!! Claire sprang up and tried the same technique again. The wheel turned again.  After one more attempt, Claire sat breathlessly on the floor.  Panting, she closed her eyes tightly to try to determine if the door had opened enough for her to escape.  Any light that came in could blind her, so she covered her eyes with her hands. A drop of sweat dripped onto her arm. Then another, and another. Claire stiffened and listened and felt. Raindrops? Those were not sweat drops because she felt one, two, three drops of water on her head.  Her senses were screaming for more.  She could hear faint sounds of dripping onto the metal bars and just a whisper of wind.

Sanctuary