Journal Jots – Blog

Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay

— Otis Redding

Ah, yes, but trust me — I am not “wasting time” because my trusty laptop is always with me! Welcome to my new office, which actually works quite well for edits on Isle of Hope since there are plenty of blue herons and sea gulls to set the mood.

And, unlike Mr. Redding, I am not leaving my home in Georgia to head for the Frisco Bay, but leaving my home in Frisco Bay (and the McClares) to head for Georgia, where I will be spending a considerable amount of time writing the Isle of Hope series.

Keith and I always dreamed of living (and working!) on a lake, and now that very dream is a reality that still prompts me to pinch myself daily. It’s nothing fancy, trust me, but it’s our little piece of heaven, and we are grateful to God for helping us to survive three moves in a year (two in the last three months) and a stubborn bout of pneumonia. And since I showed you pics of what it looked like after we moved in (remember the hoarder’s garage-sale look?), I thought you might want to see what it looks like now that it’s almost done. So at the end of this post, you’ll find the “before” and “afters” of our tiny townhome.

But before I go, I want to thank each one of you who prayed for me in some manner over the last so many months, whether it was regarding my writing, my move, or our health — you guys are SUCH a blessing to me, and I thank God for your incredible support.

I hope the weather where you are is as gorgeous as ours is at Lake of the Ozarks (high of 79 degrees today and blue skies), so I’ll sign off so both you and I can enjoy what is sure to be one of the last warm weekends of the season.

Hugs and Happy Weekend!

Julie

HAVE YOU PREORDERED LIZZIE & BRADY’S STORY YET?

The “perfect marriage” of the O’Connor clan is in trouble, so you won’t want to miss how Lizzie turns it around in “The Best Gift of All,” my Christmas novella that is part of the Seekers’ Home For Christmas Historical Collection. The collection releases Oct. 10th, and not only do you get to see and hear more from the O’Connors, but you also get to read novellas from award-winning authors Janet Dean, Ruth Logan Herne, and Pam Hillman, and all for the ridiculously low price of $2.99. So to preorder your copy, here is the link:

PREORDER

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

 

ISLE OF HOPE TO RELEASE SOON!!

WHOO-HOO … we’re getting closer and closer to the release date of November 1st for my newest novel, Isle of Hope, a contemporary that will be releasing for preorder in just weeks, so check back here as to the exact date, okay?

And if you are a blogger/reviewer with a blog that reviews books, please contact me through my website if you would like to be part of my blog tour that will be taking place November 1-7. Here’s the jacket blurb:

She stole his heart.

He stole her peace.

Can hope steal their pain?

At the age of eighteen, Lacey Carmichael was a wild girl bent on fun, promised to Jack Carmichael, a straight-and-narrow pastor’s kid bent on the seminary. When her father kicks her out of the house, she runs away from Isle of Hope, turning her back on everything she loves. Now, eight years later, she’s back as a woman of faith, hoping to make amends to the father she defied, the boyfriend she deserted, and the best friend she denied. Only the bridges she’s burned are still smoldering, kindled by an adulterous affair by Jack’s pastor father that damaged his son’s faith. But can a turning of tables—and hearts—lead the way back to “hope” for them all?

 

 BEFORE PIC OF OUR DINING ROOM:

AFTER PICS OF OUR DINING ROOM:

BEFORE PIC OF OUR LIVING ROOM:

AFTER PICS OF OUR LIVING ROOM:

BEFORE PIC OF OUR KITCHEN WITHOUT COUNTERS:

AFTER PIC OF OUR KITCHEN WITH COUNTERS (YAY!):

He traced her chin with the pad of his thumb,

 eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her mouth go dry.

“No, Lizzie, I mean really alone, when I can talk to you without interruption

and when we’re not too exhausted to connect like we used to.

Where I can hold you and share what’s in my heart, pray with you,

and make love to you without anything else stealing your attention away.”

— “The Best Gift of All”

Home for Christmas Historical Collection

 

Brrrrr … it actually got down in the 40s one night this week in Osage Beach, which reminded me all too briskly that autumn is right around the corner.

And you know what else is right around the corner? Yep, before we can blink, carve a pumpkin, or stuff a turkey, the magic of Christmas will soon be here as well, with its glow of twinkle lights and the glorious and holy joy of the season. I can hardly believe it’s finally time for “The Best Gift of All”!! Yes, Lizzie and Brady come to the foreground this Chrismas in an O’Connor novella that I hope will help take you Home for Christmas!

And guess what?? Home for Christmas Historical Romance Collection is now available for PREORDER, so I would greatly appreciate you spreading the word, and here’s a Facebook/Twitter blurb you can use to cut and paste if you are so inclined:

Time 2 Preorder HOME FOR CHRISTMAS by @julielessman @RuthLoganHerne @PamHillman @lihauthor http://amzn.to/1JhfwdE#christmas 

And to get you in the mood for Lizzie and Brady’s story, here’s the jacket blurb:

“The Best Gift of All” by Julie Lessman

Everyone knows John and Lizzie Brady have the perfect marriage. But when Lizzie’s desire to be a good mother eclipses her desire for her husband, the honeymoon is definitely over. Can the spirit of Christmas heal their hearts when Lizzie gives John the best gift of all?

You can PREORDER HERE, then check out a small excerpt at the end of this blog that will give you a taste of Lizzie and Brady’s novella.

Till next week, happy reading and happy weekend!

Hugs,

Julie

 

UNEXPECTED GIVEAWAY!!!

WHOOPS … I’d forgotten all about a blog interview I had coming up on THE WRITE WEB blog, so here’s a surprise giveaway of my upcoming contemporary Isle of Hope just for coming by to see me and leaving a comment. Contest ends Sunday at midnight, and winner will be announced here and on the Write Web blog, so do come by to say hi, okay? Here’s the link and hope to see you there:

RARE GIVEAWAY ON THE WRITE WEB BLOG

 

EXCERPT FROM “THE BEST GIFT OF ALL”

“The Best Gift of All”

Home For Christmas Historical Romance Collection

 

“Are you hungry?” Lizzie asked. “I kept a plate warm, just in case.”

Brady gave Molly another smooch and put her down. His chest expanded and contracted with a heavy sigh as he kissed Lizzie on the cheek before dropping into the chair and closing his eyes. Blunt fingers massaged the back of his neck where wisps of cinnamon-colored hair indicated a haircut long overdue. “No, Lizzie, thanks. Faith sent a passel of fried chicken that Collin and I devoured.” He pulled Molly onto his lap. “But I’d love a piece of apple pie.”

She stiffened at the sink, suddenly remembering the pie she promised to make. She turned, brows in a slope. “Oh, Brady, I’m so sorry. I meant to bake the pie, honestly, but Faith asked me to watch Abby today, and the girls kept me so busy, and then Teddy had homework …”

He looked up, fatigue evident in the sag of his shoulders and the droop of his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said with a look that somehow made her think it wasn’t at all. “I don’t really need it.” He patted a washboard stomach as firm and tight as the day they married. “We’ve been so busy, Collin and I haven’t had time for the gym, so I don’t need desserts to make me go soft.”

Her eyes trailed from his broad shoulders down muscled arms evident beneath the thin cotton of his rolled-sleeved shirt, and a smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “There’s nothing soft about you, John Brady, except your head if you think I won’t make that apple pie.”

“I can live without apple pie, Lizzie,” he whispered, his gaze meeting hers in a manner that made the kitchen suddenly too warm.

“Okay, munchkins!” Lizzie clapped her hands to quickly herd the children to the door. “It’s past your bedtime.”

Brady snatched Lizzie’s hand. “Teddy, you think you can help Molly brush her teeth and tell her a story? I need to talk to Mommy for a few minutes.”

Teddy grew at least an inch on the spot. “Sure, Dad.” He grabbed Molly’s hand. “Come on, Mol, I learned a great one at school.”

“But I want Mama to put me to bed,” Molly whined, squirming free from Teddy’s grasp.

Lizzie glanced up, her expression contrite. “It won’t take but a few minutes, John.”

“I’ll let you wear my baseball cap if you let me put you to bed,” Teddy bargained, eyeing his sister with a quiet confidence that so reminded Lizzie of his father.

Molly’s gaze shifted from Lizzie to her brother, lip protruding noticeably. “Okay,” she muttered, but not without a pleading look over her shoulder. “But Mama has to tuck me in.”

 “I promise,” Lizzie said, blowing a kiss. “Thanks, Teddy—you’re going to be a wonderful dad someday. Daddy and I will be in shortly for kisses and prayers, okay?”

Teddy led Molly from the room, and Brady lost no time in tugging Lizzie onto his lap, where she leaned against his chest as he told her about his day. His voice was as serene and mesmerizing as when Lizzie was a lovesick little girl of thirteen, and Brady the new business partner of her brother-in-law Collin. Closing her eyes, she smelled the peppermint candy he kept at the shop for children, and the scent ushered back the feelings of awe and hero worship she’d always had for John Brady.

She startled when he buried his head in her neck, his warm sigh tickling her skin. The scent of soap and ink and peppermint filled her senses. “I need you, Lizzie,” he said quietly.

She pulled away, heart racing at the gravity of his tone. “Why, John? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, a faint smile shadowing his lips as he studied her. “Nothing,” he assured, the dark bristle on his jaw giving him an almost reckless air. So unusual for her rock-steady husband, an unshakable man of God if ever there was. His broad chest rose and fell as he fondled a lock of her hair. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since we’ve been alone?”

She squinted, trying to understand his question. “But, we’re alone every night, John.”

He traced her chin with the pad of his thumb, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her mouth go dry. “No, Lizzie, I mean really alone, when I can talk to you without interruption and when we’re not too exhausted to connect like we used to. Where I can hold you and share what’s in my heart, pray with you, and make love to you without anything else stealing your attention away.”

Blood heated her cheeks and she swallowed hard. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

His quiet smile heated the rest of her body in a manner she hadn’t felt in a long, long while. Feathering her jaw, his fingers trailed her throat. “Twenty-nine years old, ten years of marriage, three children and one on the way, and you’re still the most innocent woman I’ve ever met.” He leaned in to nuzzle her ear. “I mean,” he emphasized, tone sober, “I need you, Lizzie—your laughter, your encouragement, your gentleness, your love—and not just in my bed. I need you in my heart and my mind, to feel your love like before, when it was just you and me.”

Her eyes drifted closed. Oh, Brady … we’re parents now. It could never be the same as before—didn’t he understand that? She was a mother, with responsibilities to her children …

As if sensing her hesitation, he cupped her face, eyes searching hers with a vulnerability she’d never seen in John Brady before. “Come to bed with me, Lizzie,” he whispered. “I need to be close to you, hold you, talk to you, pray about where I’ve been in my mind lately.”

She stroked his cheek, heart expanding. “Oh, John, there’s nothing I’d rather do.”

With a low groan, he drew her close, his mouth capturing hers with a passion that took her breath away. “So help me, Elizabeth, I grow more desperately in love with you every day.”

“M-Mama?”

Brady’s hold stiffened as Lizzie looked up. Molly stood at the door in her nightgown, feet bare and tears swimming in her eyes. Her little chest heaved as she clutched a ragdoll to her chest. “T-teddy t-told me about Hansel and Gretel, and I’m s-scared a witch is under my bed.”

As always, Lizzie’s heart wrenched at the sight of her children’s tears, and without a second thought, she leapt from Brady’s lap and hurried to sweep Molly up in her arms. Planting a kiss on her nose, she squeezed her tight. “How ‘bout I leave your little lamp on tonight and then we’ll check under your bed together, and the closet too, before I tuck you back in?”

Another pitiful heave shivered Molly’s body as she laid her head on Lizzie’s shoulder. “Can you s-sleep w-with me for a w-while too … please?”

“Molly, no—” Brady began, but Lizzie cut him off with a plea in her tone.

“John, she’s so frightened, she’s shivering. Please—you go get ready for bed and I’ll lay with her for a while, okay? And then I’ll be right in, I promise.”

His gaze locked with hers, and she recognized a glint of the sullen mood plaguing him of late. Lumbering to his feet, he released a weary sigh, fatigue and wariness apparent in a body usually so strong and sure. “All right,” he said quietly, moving toward the door. He kissed Molly’s head, then Lizzie’s cheek with a look that held a hint of warning. “Don’t be long.”

“I won’t.” Her repentant smile begged him to understand while she kneaded his arm with gentle fingers. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said dully as he let her pass, but somehow the look on his face said that maybe he didn’t at all.

 

Do not be afraid, because I’ve redeemed you.

I’ve called you by name;  

you are mine.

–Isaiah 43:1

For me and most of our country, September 11 is a sad day, winging our thoughts and our prayers to those who suffered so much loss in the deadliest terrorist attack in the history of our country. In respect for those who died, their families, and those who provided rescue, I’d like to begin this blog today with a silent prayer for those families who were tragically and personally touched by 911 and for our nation.

Given the history of September 11, today is definitely a bit of a emotional day, and one for me that is also the end of an emotional week. Most of you know that my husband and I just moved to the Lake of the Ozarks, a tiny community that is one of the nation’s top lake destinations. Because of the tourism the Lake brings, it’s sort of a surreal mindset here in the summer, where the emphasis is definitely on watersports and boating and just plain having fun.

But then life happens to alter your perspective, quickly reducing surreal mindsets down to the only one that matters:

We belong to God.

And, boy oh boy, was I glad of that this week because last Sunday, we landed in the Emergency Room when my husband contracted pneumonia. You know, there was a time when that word didn’t scare me, but in recent years, I’ve seen the damage it can do if not corralled quickly enough. Before antibiotics came on the scene, pneumonia was one of the deadliest diseases around, and even today with our advanced medical state, there are still about 1 million people hospitalized with pneumonia every year, approximately 50,000 of which die from the disease.

So when I saw my strong, strapping husband burning up with fever, soaking and changing four T-shirts a night, and losing 7 lbs. in a few days, I got real nervous, especially when the fever lasted almost a week. I’d lay there at night praying for him while vile thoughts of being a widow flashed through my mind. I can’t tell you how many times I sat up to see if he was breathing or touched him to see if his skin was still burning up. Trust me, this is one time you don’t want to be a CDQ (caffeinated drama queen) because the anxiety and loss of sleep took a real toll on me. After several nights of this, all I could do was touch him while he slept and whisper Jesus’ name over and over again.

And guess what? That one amazing, beautiful, totally powerful name not only sent a peace coursing through me, but I believe it fought the pneumonia as well. At one point in the night, I even remember smiling through tears because in my mind’s eye, I suddenly saw the rhythmic whisper of Jesus’ name almost like a blood transfusion, pumping healing into my husband’s body through the healing Blood of Jesus! His Blood, His Name, His presence in our lives. And all because we belong to Him!

I am happy to report that the love of my life is finally on the mend, given a thumbs-up by the doc yesterday as long as he takes it easy and rests for at least another week. Yeah, we’ll see how that goes — he was out sawing dead limbs off several trees this morning before I hounded him to go inside, the poor guy weak and out of breath. Sigh.

God has called each of us by name, stating unequivocally that “you are mine.” That’s me and that’s you. But reflecting on 911, I’m reminded that bad things sometimes do happen to those who belong to Him, but that doesn’t ever change the fact that we are His, both on this side of eternity and the other. And I don’t know about you, but that is the one thing I cling to when life gets a little too real like it did for me this last week and like it has and is for many of you right now. Please don’t forget that you are His — His prized possession and the apple of His eye. He will see us through whatever life throws our way.

I am forever grateful to God and to those of you who prayed for my husband this week — THANK YOU!!

In closing, I’d like to post a tiny clip from one of my own favorite spiritual scenes because it underscores that we belong to Him, and we should never forget it. This is from A Love Surrendered, where the hero Steven O’Connor finally “gets it” that he belongs to God.

“God will help you do the right thing.”

His father’s parting words opened his eyes, prompting him to search the heavens. “Will you, God? Will you help me to do the right thing—not just with Annie, but with the rest of my life?”

His whisper broke in the dark, hoarse and cracked and so desperate for change that emotion choked the words in his throat. “I-I’ve made so many mistakes . . . with my father, with Maggie, with you. I’m begging you . . .” A heave shuddered his body. “Forgive me, please . . . and change me like you changed my father . . . and help me to become the man you want me to be.”

The steady beat of the rain drummed on the roof while the cold air chilled his body, the cool and damp of impending winter heavy in the air. And yet somehow, Steven felt warm, his breathing shallow as his eyes scanned the sky. There were no bolts of lightning to illuminate the dark nor peals of thunder to herald anything new. Only the still small voice of God in his heart, stirring a flame of hope that brought peace to his soul.

He leadeth me beside the still waters . . . He restoreth my soul . . . He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness . . .

“I don’t understand,” Steven rasped, eyes brimming with tears. “Why do you even care?

Because you are mine, the thought came, and Steven bowed his head and wept.

Because for the first time in his life, he finally understood.

He was.

Hugs and Healthy Weekend!

Julie

SUPER PAPERBACK DEAL — HUGE SALE ON HEART OF SAN FRANCISCO SERIES!!

WOW, WOW, WOW!!! The PAPERBACK copies for the entire Heart of San Francisco series are ON SALE for only $1.99 each at CBD for a short time, so take advantage!! Here are the links:  LOVE AT ANY COST,  DARE TO LOVE AGAIN,  SURPRISED BY LOVE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MY NEW CONTEMPORARY NOVEL TO RELEASE SOON!!

Well, I’m pretty excited because my newest novel, Isle of Hope, will be releasing in e-book only in late October or early November, so stay tuned to Journal Jots for the exact date and when you can preorder, okay?

She stole his heart.

He stole her peace.

Can hope steal their pain?

At the age of eighteen, Lacey Carmichael was a wild girl bent on fun, promised to Jack Carmichael, a straight-and-narrow pastor’s kid bent on the seminary. When her father kicks her out of the house, she runs away from Isle of Hope, turning her back on everything she loves. Now, eight years later, she’s back as a woman of faith, hoping to make amends to the father she defied, the boyfriend she deserted, and the best friend she denied. Only the bridges she’s burned are still smoldering, kindled by an adulterous affair by Jack’s pastor father that damaged his son’s faith. But can a turning of tables—and hearts—lead the way back to “hope” for them all?