Journal Jots – Blog

“We are our choices.”

― Jean-Paul Sartre

HAPPY FRIDAY!!!

And I gotta admit, it’s happier than most because A.) I just found out my official title for book 2 in the Heart of San Francisco series will be Dare to Love Again, which I like a lot (my original title was Dare to Love, so I came closer on this one than any of the others!). B.) I sent the final ms. for Dare to Love Again to my editor on Wednesday, and I have to admit — it turned out better than I thought and Keith liked it so well, he wants to read it again!! Says he misses the characters, which is a very good thing! I think it’s a light and funny romance, so hopefully you will too.

And C.) I get to babysit my precious granddaughter and the granddogs tonight, so looking forward to that!!

So what’s up next in my writing schedule? Well, my next project is to re-edit A Light in the Window to incorporate a scene eluded to in A Passion Denied about Sam kissing Marcy the morning of her wedding. I’ve had a number of readers bemoan the fact that I didn’t include that in the book, so since I planned on doing a few small edits anyway, I thought, why not?

Then next, I dive in to book 3 of The Heart of San Francisco series, Dare to Hope (working title), and I have to be honest — I’m chomping at the bit on this one because ideas are slamming me so hard on the treadmill,  I can barely keep up. Here’s a sneak peek at what it’s about:

1-Line Premise: An ugly duckling who becomes a swan plots romantic vindication on the man who spurned her with the help of the best friend who steals her heart.

Moral Premise: Rejection, insecurity and guilt can skew our choices, resulting in misery and lack of peace, but acceptance, confidence and faith in God can shape our choices, resulting in contentment and peace.

Scripture Theme:

The words of a man’s mouth are as deep waters, and the wellspring of wisdom as a flowing brook. —Proverbs 18:4

Opening Paragraphs of Synopsis:

San Francisco, Summer 1904

      Close your mouth, Devin Caldwell, you’ll swallow a fly. The very thought twitched the edges of Meghan McClare’s mouth with a smile that tingled all the way to her toes.

      “Now, there’s a thought that’s up to no good,” her friend Bram Hughes said with a lazy grin, hazel eyes twinkling with his trademark tease that never failed to warm her inside and out.

       Tilting her head, she studied the best friend who’d been there for her through thick and thin. Thick before Paris, thin after. Palms damp, she smoothed the slim waist of her House of Worth suit, nibbling the edge of a smile that was no longer painfully shy. No good is right, she thought with a crook of her lips, chin edging up. Eat your heart out, Devin Caldwell.

So, please say one for me as I dive in to this, the last book in the McClare saga!

Now … when I first named my blog Journal Jots, the original intent was a short journel entry that I would “jot” down to my reader friends on a regular basis, but as everyone knows who reads my books, Seeker blogs, or Journal Jots, I don’t do “short” real well. But today, that’s about to change.

Why? Because nothing I can say can compare to the impact of a video I saw this week. My future son-in-law sent me this clip from an Oprah show with Rick Warren and Nick Vujicic that is simply one of the most inspiring — if not THE most inspiring — clip I have ever seen. I leaked countless tears when I watched it because it packs a wallop of a message to each one of us regarding choices we make … choices that become who we are as our quote above so wisely points out. So please do watch the video … at least till the part where Nick Vujicic comes on because I promise you, it will greatly affect your life and your perception of the choices we all make. Here’s the link:

Oprah Clip Entitled: This Is Going To Shut Your Mouth

Happy viewing, Happy Weekend, and Happy Choices!!

Hugs,

Julie

“Can a leopard get rid of its spots?”

—Jeremiah 13:23

So … can a leopard change its spots??

You know, up until last week, I would have said “no,” but my husband proved me wrong.

You see, Keith just finished reading the manuscript for book 2 in my Heart of San Francisco series, Love at Any Risk (working title that was originally Dare to Love), and his input has effectively diminished some of my spots. Oh, sure, sure—I’m still a leopard, which is just as passionate as a cougar, only far more restrained in the moral sense, preferring God’s take on romance rather than the world’s), but those spots—my propensity for including pulse-pounding kisses in my novels—are fading somewhat.

Now, it’s no secret I love kisses in my books and lots and lots of them, and, in fact, had a kiss on the very first page of my debut novel A Passion Most Pure, a most shocking notion for a Christian novel. Contrary to most Christian romance, where a kiss doesn’t generally happen till midway or ¾ of the way through the book, all of my books contain a kiss in the first quarter of the novel … uh, except for this latest manuscript for Love at Any Risk. How did that happen, you ask? Was I on cold medicine, perchance, wreaking havoc with my passion for romance?

Nope, just married to a man who thinks differently than I do.

“Boy, are people going to hate you,” he said one day this week, strolling into the hearthroom where I write with a black binder under his arm.

“What do you mean people are going to hate me?” I respond in alarm, wondering how on earth I could offend in a book that was toned down in every possible way—length, complexity, passion, angst, drama, more subtle spirituality, etc.

He levels me with a mock scowl. “I’m about ready to jump out of my skin, Julie, after the last scene I just read. I thought you said this book was a sweet, easy read with no drama?”

I blink. “It is,” I say, thinking maybe he picked up his Popular Mechanics by mistake.

“I don’t think so,” he says with a smirk, “people are going to hate you for making them crazy.”

Crazy? A true talent of mine, obviously, given the excessive roll of my daughter’s eyes over the years, the constant shake of my husband’s head, the wealth of emails from readers who either did or wanted to throw one or more of my books across a room.

“B-but … but … there’s no huge surprise in this one,” I argue, “no great drama, no angst …”

The head-shaking commences as he smiles and walks away, binder in hand.

Which just goes to show that even though this leopard thought she was changing her spots, she wasn’t, at least not in the drama sense. Apparently that is ingrained in every fiber of this CDQ’s being.

But in the romance sense? Ah … a leopard of a different color, at least on this book, and you know what? For the first time ever, I’m content with the idea that a kiss does not happen in Love at Any Risk until ¾ of the way through, just like a typical Christian romance. In fact, call me spotty if you will, but I think it may actually be a little more romantic this way with the desire to kiss hovering over the entire book like the intoxicating scent of Ghiradelli chocolate hovered over the wharves of San Francisco back in 1903.

But … I’ll let you be the judge. Here are two clips from the same scene in Love at Any Risk in which the hero enters the heroine’s classroom while she’s standing on a chair, pinning letters to a bulletin board. In the first example, I originally had what I affectionately refer to as a “caveman kiss” (see my Seeker blog entitled KISS-ology 103 for a definition and example), which happens ¼ of the way through the book, true to my form and spots. But based on the feedback from my hubby, I changed this caveman kiss to a softer near-kiss, which I’m shocked to discover I actually like better. What do you think? And by the way, I’m THRILLED to say that my hubby finished this book in record time (3 or 4 days and him a non-reader) and says he “misses the characters” and wants to read it again before I send it off to my editor, so YAY!! Hope my readers agree!!

Happy reading and Happy Weekend!

Hugs,

Julie

ORIGINAL SCENE:

     “Look, lady, I’m sorry I riled you again, but if you would just listen to reason—”

     With a sharp suck of air, she hopped off the chair and grabbed her pointer, eyes blazing and stick flailing. “Reason?!” Two circles of bright pink bruised her creamy cheeks, clear indication he had effectively triggered her ire—for the umpteenth blasted time. “There is no reasoning with a brainless bully like you,” she shrieked, her voice so high-pitched, it hurt his ears. “Oooooo, you are simply the most infuriating baboon I have ever had the misfortune to encounter—out!”

     He put his hands up to fend her off. “Look, Miss McClare, if you would just hear me out—”

     Whoosh! The stick nearly sliced his ear before he dodged it, snatching it from her fingers so fast, it hit the wall even before her gasp hit the air. He loomed over her, temple throbbing. “One more stunt like that, lady, and I’ll arrest you for assault with a deadly weapon.”

     “I’ll give you assault!” She hiked her heel and stomped his foot with a loud grunt, further singeing his temper when she marred his fresh shoe polish. Whirling around, she grabbed a wooden yardstick from her desk while he gaped at the half-moon indentation on the tip of his shoe, hardly able to believe what the little brat had done. Nobody scuffs my Italian leather oxfords …

     Slapping the yardstick on her desk, she jabbed it toward the door, yammering on and on about what a disgrace he was to the precinct and what a pitiful excuse he was for a man. He was sorely tempted to break her ruler too, but his promise to Lottie and Miss Penny had him by the throat. Not unlike a certain feather-headed aristosnob. He ground his teeth, glaring while her tirade continued, wishing there was someway he could just shut the woman up. She continued to unleash her fury, hands plunked on her hips and green eyes glittering like jagged glass. All at once, her words faded while he focused on her mouth, Miss Penny’s warning ringing in his ears. “And you’ll be nice to Miss McClare and treat her with the respect she deserves, right?” His lips curved in a devious smile.

     Oh, yeah …

     She jabbered on, near glazing his eyes before she popped him with the ruler, her noisy nattering never missing a beat.

     “That’s it,” he muttered and tossing his hat on a nearby desk, he jerked the ruler from her hand and flung it away. Scooping her up in his arms, he silenced her with a sound kiss, her feet dangling limp when he latched her to his waist with an iron grip. Blissful silence reigned for several pulse-pounding seconds while her shock wore off and then she twisted and kicked till he tightened his hold, determined to give the wildcat something to smack him for. Much to his chagrin, she tasted like peppermint with just a hint of honey, and somewhere deep down inside a groan rose in his chest when fire began to lick through his body. The intensity of attraction jolted him so much that he dropped her like a rock, as if he’d been singed, and from the blood throbbing in his veins, he wasn’t all that sure he hadn’t.

     She landed precariously with a hard grunt, the wind obviously knocked out of her as she wobbled on her feet. “H-how … h-how d-dare you!” she sputtered, the whites of her eyes circled in shock as she teetered on her heels.

     “Only way to shut you up,” he said in a near growl, swiping his hat from the desk. He jerked his waistcoat closed, then buttoned his vest with fingers as thick as the insults on the tip of his tongue. “I’m warning you, princess, for you own good—stay off both the trolley and the streets by yourself in the Barbary Coast, especially after dark, understand?”

REVISED (AND FINAL) SCENE:

     “I … apologize, Detective Baronē,” she whispered with her back to him, actually pronouncing his name correctly for the very first time. “I’ve been …” He could almost hear the swallow of pride in her throat. “Unforgivably rude and I just hope …” She pivoted slowly on the chair to face him, the humility in her eyes jolting him when it heightened her beauty. “You can forgive me for being such an obnoxious brat.”

     A leisurely smile curved on his lips. “Forgiven, Miss McClare,” he said with tease in his tone, “and I sure hope apologies are on the curriculum, ma’am, because you do them so well.” He extended his hand with a cock of his head. “May I help you down so we can start over?”

     She drew in a deep breath and released it with a nervous smile of relief, placing her palm in his. “Yes, please.” Voice as soft as her touch, she startled when the dainty tip of her oxblood kid leather shoe accidentally kicked the pinbox on the edge of her chair, causing her to wobble. “Oh!” she squeaked, the crash of the pins apparently leaving her off kilter. With a look of abject horror, she flailed in the air for several panicked heartbeats before finally thudding hard against his chest, his arms fusing them together in a state of mutual stun.

     He blinked, paralyzed by the warmth of her body, the flare of her eyes, the scent of chocolate from parted lips so lush, the fire blazing through him could have melted the candy in her bowl. As if hypnotized by the shape of her mouth, his gaze lingered there, feeling the pull …

     “Uh, Mr. Baronē?” The lips appeared to move in slow motion, their soft, pink color luring him close … SO very close.

     “Mmm?” Barely aware, he felt his body slowly lean in, breathing shallow and eyelids heavy, that perfect mouth calling him home …

     “Mr. Barone!”

     Her tone could have been a whack of her stick, jerking him from his fog with the reminder that a woman still dangled in his arms. Sucking in a harsh breath, he dropped her to her feet so fast, the poor thing teetered like his sanity in even thinking about kissing a dame from Snob Hill. “Forgive m-me, Miss McClare,” he stuttered in a gruff tone, “I … I don’t know what came over me.” Swallowing hard, he quickly squatted to retrieve her pinbox and pins, rising to carefully place both on her desk.

     “Thank you.” A deep rose dusted her cheeks as she took a step back. Head in a tilt, she offered a timid smile while she frittered her nails. “So, Detective Baronē,” she said with an awkward clear of her throat, “was there something you wanted?”

“Holiness is not a question of purity overcoming passion,

But of transforming passion into purity’s service.”

—Seeking the Face of God, by Gary Thomas

I did it!! I didn’t think I would, but I did, and all because of the faithful prayers of good friends like many of you, so THANK YOU!!

What did I do? I finished book 2 in “The Heart of San Francisco” series, working title Dare to Love (still waiting on final title, but I’m hoping Revell picks Love at Any Risk) just in the “Nick” (the hero’s name) of time!

Not only is this series a departure for me from my prior “O’Connor” series in being shorter, sweeter, simpler, less passionate, and less complicated, but this particular book is also a departure in that it’s funnier (I hope!) than my other books, making it a light read for the most part, with a lot less nail-biting drama. True, there’s no jaw-dropping surprise in this one, which does bothers me a wee bit, but makes sense because it’s more of a fun read rather than high drama.

Despite the lack of a shocker surprise that my books usually include, this is actually one of my favorite type of novels to write—where the hero and heroine butt heads A LOT, a la Maureen O’Hara and John Wayne in McClintock (or Charity and Mitch in A Passion Redeemed). Which is why I proposed a cover with a side view of a girl in a beautiful Gibson-Girl hairstyle and dress holding a string of boxing gloves over her shoulder. I don’t think Revell will use that suggestion, but you get the idea.

So … what does this have to do with today’s quote? Well, the moment I read the quote above in one of my devotionals this week, I was struck by how it not only applied to me (and each one of us, I’m sure), but also to my heroine Allison McClare. You see, I love this quote because it takes the burden off of me to sweat and strive to be more like Christ, and places the emphasis on deepening my relationship with God instead, allowing my love and passion to be the impetus in my quest to be holy. Not unlike the difference between a small child obeying because he wants to please the parent he loves rather than because he’s afraid of a spanking.

“Be holy, because I am holy.” 1 Peter 1:16, a task accomplished far easier with passion for Him. Just like my heroine Allison McClare learns to love in a deeper capacity by channeling all of her passion (her anger and bitterness over betrayal at the hand of men) into her passion for God via forgiving and praying for those men who have hurt her, so can each of us channel our passions, whatever they may be, into Him and His precepts. Which is exactly what both of my heroines—Allison McClare and her mother, Caitlyn—learn do in this book, assuring them a happy ending, which, of course, means a happy ending for you, the reader, as well.

So to celebrate the finish of my 9^th book, I thought it’d be fun to show you the first two pages of Love at Any Risk (2^nd working title), which lights the fuse for a love story with fireworks galore, matching the wits and tempers of crotchety, hot-blooded Italian police detective Nick Barone and a sweet and sassy drama queen named Allison McClare, a socialite burned by love three times who butts heads and hearts with a jaded cop burned by the upper class.

Hugs,

Julie 

Chapter One

San Francisco, Summer 1903

Merciful Providence … I smell a rat. Allison McClare sniffed, eyes in a squint and nose in the air, the unmistakable scent of Bay Rum drifting in her empty classroom of the Hand of Hope School. Although not an uncommon thing for an antiquated Victorian just a stone’s throw from the sewers and littered alleys of the notorious Barbary Coast, this smell of “rat” was altogether different and far more frightening. Allison wrinkled her nose.

The man kind.

With a keen sense of smell that boggled her family’s mind, Allison wished she could sniff out man rats as easily because heaven knows her heart didn’t have a clue, not after three near misses at the altar. She drew in another deep breath, hoping the salty scent of the sea and the heady fragrance of Mother’s tea roses breezing in the window would prove her wrong, confirming no rats were in the vicinity. She grunted, pinning another paper-mache flower to her bulletin board.

At least, not the two-legged kind.

“I think you took a wrong turn, lady, high tea is at The Palace.”

Body jolting, Allison whirled around, almost inhaling the straight pin lodged in her teeth. She blinked at a tall, disgruntled stranger cocked in the door of her classroom who might have been dangerously attractive if not for the scowl on his face. An unruly strand of dark hair, almost black—like his mood appeared to be—toppled over his forehead, peeking out beneath a dark Homburg he obviously felt no courtesy to remove. He hiked a thumb over his shoulder toward the front door, his gruff voice a near snarl as he glared through gray-green eyes that seemed to darken by the moment, the color of stormy seas. “I assume that’s your fancy car and driver out front? Well you need to move it to the back of the building pronto, lady, whether you’re here to teach or just out slumming with the poor folks.”

The straight pin in her teeth dropped to the floor along with her jaw as she gaped, hardly able to comprehend the rudeness of this Neanderthal who would be better attired in a bearskin and club than the charcoal suit coat draped over his shoulder. Rolled sleeves of what might have been a crisp white shirt at one time revealed muscled forearms thick with dark hair like the brainless caveman he appeared to be. His fashionable silk vest hung open—like his mouth—gaping wide across a formidable chest. It was only half past two in the afternoon, but already dark bristle shadowed his hard-angled jaw, lending an ominous air to a man who possessed less charm than found on the head of her pin. And a head just as pointed. Her nose scrunched again, the smell of “rat” surprisingly strong. She took in the high starched collar with an off-center four-in-hand tie as if he had loosened it in protest to fashionable attire he considered a noose ‘round his neck. Alli’s lips squirmed. Like the one I’m envisioning now …

He squinted as if she were the intruder instead of him, daring to invade his cave. “What, cat got your tongue?”

Yes, you pinhead … a polecat. She glared right back in silence, figuring if she waited long enough, his face would crack … something she’d pay good money to see. She almost wished she’d left with Mother and Cassie hours earlier instead of attempting to stay later on a Friday the week before they opened their new Hand of Hope School. Her gaze flicked to the clock on the wall that indicated her elderly driver Hadley was more than on time to take her back home. And not a moment too soon, she thought with a purse of her lips, if her encounter with this nitwit was any indication of the rest of her day.

Her silence apparently ruffled his fur because his eyes narrowed, if possible, even more than before as he blasted out a noisy exhale, shaking his head as if she were the one with a pea for a brain. “Great—a rich dame as dumb as she is lost,” he muttered under his breath, and every word his insolence had stolen from her lips marched to the tip of her tongue to do battle.

“Pardon me, Mr. Personality,” she said in a clipped tone that suggested he’d just crawled out from under a rock, “but the one who is lost here, you cave dweller, is you, so I suggest you lumber back to whatever cavern you climbed out of and search for the manners you obviously left behind.” In a royal swoop befitting the new drama teacher of the Hand of Hope School for Girls, she snatched the dropped pin from the floor with a swish of pink taffeta, jabbing it into the bulletin board as if it were the backside of this unsavory baboon and every other who’d ever broken her heart. Before the baboon could speak—or grunt—she whirled around with a flourish, satisfied to see a sagging jaw that likely resembled the mouth of his cave. She’d obviously rendered the beast dumb. Good—a perfect match for his brain.