PART ONE: HOW TO BECOME A BEST-SELLING AUTHOR IN 20 YEARS OR LESS

Today’s guest is New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Olivia Cunning. This is the first part of a special two-part series on finding success as a self-publishing author. Part two will run on Monday, March 17^th. 

We hear so many great success stories in writing and from the outside it often looks so easy. But here’s Olivia to tell us about the truth about becoming an “overnight” sensation.

Part One: The Drawer Books

Sia asked me to talk about my experiences self-publishing. I've known her since before I was published. She’s seen all my ups and downs. Apparently, she thinks my late night, sleep deprived, sugar high induced rants are hilarious. Thanks, Sia. I’ll have you know my angst is real.

Back in the olden days—yes, the early 1990s are the olden days—I read a Silhouette Desire book by Nora Roberts. It wasn't the first romance book I’d ever read, but it was the book that made me want to write my own romance novel. Not because I thought I could write better than Nora-freakin-Roberts, but because I wanted to be like her when I grew up. This was before Nora Roberts was one of the biggest names in the romance genre, but even then I was blown away by her writing style.

I was nineteen years old, in a bad marriage, with a baby on the way, no college education, and my only job experience was in fast food. And I thought, hey, I’ll be a writer! How hard can it be? Don’t answer that. I was young and naive.

This was the “olden days.” There were no e-books. No Internet. Self-publishing consisted of paying out of your own pocket to have 1000 copies of your book printed. You would then stand in a parking lot and beg strangers to buy your book. If you were lucky, your mom bought a copy and used it as a coaster or something, pointing it out to visitors—“that’s by my kid, the writer”—which met with a lot of ceiling gazing and an occasional guilt-sale. So self-publishing never crossed my mind. I didn't have money to print copies of my book, and I’m much too shy and afraid of being punched in the face to annoy strangers in parking lots. So I went the traditional route.

I wrote my masterpiece—cough tripe cough—and when it was finished (with no editing), I saved it on my 5.25” floppy disk and took it to my second cousin’s house to use her dot matrix printer. I was too poor to buy my own printer. Hell, I was too poor to buy paper to put in the damned thing. Luckily, my cousin had a spare, yellowed ream. I looked through publisher marketplace books to find submission guidelines. I sent (via snail mail—there was no email in the olden days) a synopsis and three chapters to Harlequin and Silhouette. Those were the only romance publishers that would take unsolicited manuscripts from authors without agents. Then I waited. And waited. After ten thousand years (so it was more like ten months), Harlequin sent me a letter and requested the full manuscript. Which is good—because it gave me hope. And bad—because it gave me hope. So back to the cousin’s house to print out the entire manuscript and rip off more printer feed edges and separate each page along the bottom perforations. Oy! (Excuse me for a second. *goes to hug laser printer*) I borrowed money from my grandma for postage and sent off the book with big dreams for myself and my son. This was going to change our lives.

And…

You know this is coming, right?

It was rejected with a form letter.

Ugh. I was gutted. Devastated. Destroyed. I was never going to be an author, much less make a living at it. So I went to college. And worked my ass off. And became a science teacher. But my dream was still to be a fiction author. I never stopped writing. I wrote after I put the kid to bed. I plotted during my commute. I wrote on weekends. I plotted some more while in the shower. I wrote during vacations. But I wasn't writing romance. If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, I was the opposite of insane. I tried writing every genre I could as I attempted to find my niche. I could write. I just didn't know what to write.

I tried my hand at another series romance for Silhouette. The manuscript was rejected and shoved in a drawer.

I wrote a fantasy novel five hundred pages long. Agents wouldn't touch it. TOR, who also accepted unsolicited manuscripts at the time, rejected it. Shoved in a drawer.

I wrote a medical thriller. Rejected and shoved in a drawer.

I wrote a YA science fiction novel. Rejected and shoved in a drawer. Removed from drawer and entered into a contest. Lost contest and shoved back in drawer.

I wrote a paranormal romance. Rejected and shoved in drawer. Removed from drawer and entered into a contest. Lost contest and shoved back in drawer.

I wrote an erotic romance about rock stars. And…

Tada!

That manuscript and the rest of the five book Sinners on Tour series was picked up by a small publisher.

The first book was released in October 2010. Finally, after 20 years of trying, I was published. I could go to a bookstore and see my book on a shelf. I could do a book-signing and have half a dozen people show up and have a customer ask the bookstore owner when they were going to have good writers like Stephenie Meyer do a signing. True story. When the customer asked that, she was standing directly in front of me, my book in her hand and her nose turned up. But my first five fans, my family, and Sia showed up at that very first signing, which made me feel a little better about not being a good writer like Stephenie Meyer.

At first, my rock star erotic romance didn't do so well. It did okay for a first book. People discovered it slowly. Very slowly. So I was published, but I wasn't making a living at it. Not by a long shot.

• So how did I finally manage to quit my day job?

Come back on Monday for Part Two: My Own Brand of Insanity

                                                                                                                                                        

Combining her love for romantic fiction and rock 'n roll, Olivia Cunning writes erotic romance centered around rock musicians. Her latest release, Sinners at the Altar, is available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other retailers.

THE ZOMBIES ARE COMING

October is a month of nasties comin' at you. Vampires, ghouls, ghosts, Freddy Kruegar, and the host of pint-sized pixies, princesses, and super heroes invading your neighborhood and pounding on your door. 

And then there are zombies... 

My guest is zombie aficionado and author, Dana Fredsti, who wrote Plague Town about a tough and sexy zombie hunter, Ashley Parker. Ashley is also smart and sassy mouthed--reminds me of a certain author I know. Plague Nation is book number two in the series. 

Dana talks a bit about zombies in movies and history.  

I’m sure most of you probably know at least one, if not more, people like me. You know, the friend you invite to dinner who, instead of appreciating the spectacular view from that big old picture window in your living room, lectures you about the impossibility of boarding it up efficiently when the zombies come. 

 

Yeah, I’m that person. And it used to be there weren't very many of us; just a relatively small fringe group of people given to eye-balling his or her surroundings at any given moment, planning just what we’d do if the zombie apocalypse should happen to start right then and there.  We were like a small, select club, but instead of a secret handshake we’d all laugh knowingly when someone else said, “Yeah, they’re dead. They’re all messed up.” 

 

Now you can’t turn around without running into zombie savvy civilians.  Over the last few years zombies have taken over publishing, movies, television and pop culture as relentlessly as they've overrun farmhouses and malls in George Romero’s films. Even the CDC has gotten into the rotting, shambling spirit of things.  Some people are proclaiming zombies are the “new vampire” (and if, by “new vampire” they mean zombies are the currently the monster du jour for film and literature, I take their point. I don’t, however, see them taking over as romantic heroes, sparkling or otherwise).  Others state that zombies have already “jumped the shark” and are on their way out, end of story.  Not likely, says I.  People like me have been waiting a long time for enough zombie fodder to satisfy our appetites. 

 

Not that the concept of a zombie apocalypse is new.  There are references to the flesh eating dead in the Epic of Gilgamesh, perhaps the oldest surviving work of literature.  And one has only to take a peek at a few choice passages in the bible to see that the dead returning to life is not a new theme.

 

Throughout history most cultures have had, if not precisely zombies as we've come to define them (i.e. reanimated corpses with a voracious appetite for human flesh), assorted critters close enough for government work: vengeful reanimated corpses called revenants (think Creepshow's  "I want my cake!" segment); nachzehrers and gjengangers (ghouls that feed on corpses, but also attack the living and spread disease); and the Norse draugr (dead Vikings who attack, eat and infect the living). 

 

Haitian folklore brought us the "zombi" (which translates as "spirit of the dead"), in the form of either an animated corpse or living human controlled by a Bokor (voodoo priest) after being zapped with a nasty toxic powder called "coup poudre." These zombies didn't eat human flesh, but they were still creepy.  Early movies like White Zombie, I Walked with a Zombie, and the '80s film Serpent and the Rainbow featured this relatively benign incarnation of the walking dead.

 

George Romero's 1968 release Night of the Living Dead brought us the classic (and now ubiquitous) slow, but relentless flesh-eating zombies. Subsequent films/books/games/television have since brought us more slow zombies; zombies that could win gold medals for sprinting; smart zombies (Day of the Dead); brain-eating zombies (Return of the Living Dead); shark fighting zombies (Zombie Flesh Eaters); funny zombies (Shaun of the Dead/Zombieland); pathetic zombies (Zombie Honeymoon); and sensitive zombies (Fido). And yes, oh well, Summer Blockbuster Zombies that can only be defeated by Brad Pitt.   

Reasons for the zombacalypse range from exploding space probes, biological warfare, demonic possession, tainted meat, mutating viruses/bacterial nasties, biblical prophecy, and more.  And now, thanks to The Walking Dead (AMC) and Dead Set (BBC), zombies have successfully infiltrated network television. 

And I couldn't be more delighted to invite them into my home. :-)

• How about you? Are you a fan of Zombies? The Walking Dead?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

 

BUY: AMAZON, B&N, INDIEBOUND

PLAGUE NATION

Dana Fredsti

Sequel to the thrilling zombie novel PLAGUE TOWN.

The last thing Ashley Parker wanted when she went to college was to become a zombie hunter. But she is one of a select few who are immune to the virus. Gifted with enhanced speed, strength, and senses, she’s recruited by a shadowy organization that’s existed for centuries, its sole purpose to combat the zombie threat. 

The Zombie Swarm… The undead have been defeated in Redwood Grove, but reports of similar outbreaks are coming in. What seemed to be an isolated event is turning into a pandemic. 

Dark secrets begin to emerge, and when an unknown enemy strikes, Ashley and the other wild cards embark on a desperate mission to reach San Francisco. If they fail, the plague will sweep the nation unchecked. And the person she cares for most may die. Or worse. Excerpt (on Amazon)

"Dana Fredsti has given us something I never thought possible – a hot and steamy version of the zombie siege story...And Plague Nation is exactly what the zombie genre needed." Joe McKinney, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Flesh Eaters and Inheritance 

                                                                                                                                                    

Dana and Pogeen

Dana Fredsti is ex B-movie actress with a background in theatrical sword-fighting. Through seven plus years of volunteering at the Exotic Feline Breeding Facility/Feline Conservation Center (www.cathouse-fcc.org) in Rosamond, California, Dana’s had a full-grown leopard sit on her feet, been kissed by tigers, held baby jaguars and had her thumb sucked by an ocelot with nursing issues. She’s addicted to bad movies and any book or film, good or bad, which include zombies. Her other hobbies include surfing (badly), collecting beach glass (obsessively), and wine tasting (happily). Her other books include: Plague Town and Plague Nation (Titan Books, 2012 & 2013), touted as Buffy meets the Walking Dead, and a number of spicy genre romances written under the name Inara LaVey. Plague World will be out in April 2014. 

You can find Dana: Website, Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter

Haunting Houses, Haunted Hearts

My guest is historical romance author, Kat Sheridan. She is addicted to historical Gothic novels and feels the best romance novels include storms, castles, bat-shit-crazy villains, and a high body count. Oh yes, and larger than life heroes and heroines. Today she talks about a character present in all Gothic romances that we often forget.

With the coming of autumn we all tend to draw closer to the hearth. The weather is cooler, the sunny days fewer, and the rain and winds are the harbinger of the coming of winter. The days are darker, and night comes early. Now is the time of year I love to curl up in front of the fire with a hot beverage and a good book. And my favorite choice for this time of year is the old school gothic romance.

What’s a gothic romance? There are certain classic tropes that are usually included—an intrepid heroine, a dark, alpha hero, mysterious goings-on, and danger. But there is always one other character, the thing from which the genre actually gets its name: a house.

The term “gothic” originated from the Gothic architecture of the pseudo-medieval structures that were the setting of early gothics. It might be a mansion, an abbey, a manor, a hall, or a hotel, but it becomes a key “character” in the story. It’s more than just a setting, a framework for events. It takes on a life of its own. Consider these descriptions of the residences in some classic gothics:

“There was Manderley, our Manderley, secretive and silent as it had always been, the gray stone shining in the moonlight of my dream, the mullioned windows reflecting the green lawns and terrace.” ~ from Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier.

“It was three stories high, of proportions not vast, though considerable: a gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat: battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look.” ~ description of Thornfield Hall from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.

“Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst.” ~ House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne.

These haunting—and possibly haunted—houses are representatives of larger themes in the stories. When Manderley or Thornfield burn down, it’s a representation of finally destroying the past to make way for the future. Even the name “Thornfield” is thought to represent the “field of thorns” Jane has to overcome in order to find her happiness.

And so it is with Tremayne Hall, the mansion in my debut Victorian Gothic romance, Echoes in Stone. When Jessa first arrives, on a suitably stormy night, it’s described thusly: “The immense stone mansion loomed over her, perched on the edge of the cliff like a bird of prey. Three stories rose above her, stretching out to both sides from the central portion. Rounded towers punctuated stone wings at either end, topped with crenelations biting like giant’s teeth into the night sky. A light glimmered in a window, high in the eastern tower. An additional glow shone through the colored glass panes framing the massive Gothic arch of the front door. Otherwise, the house stood shrouded in darkness.”

I deliberately described the house as a living thing—a bird of prey—because it plays such a key role. As the story progresses, Tremayne Hall reflects the lives of the inhabitants. In the beginning, Jessa’s explorations reveal this: “But everywhere, there were signs of neglect. Paving stones had shifted, making the walkways treacherous. The dry fountain overflowed with leaves. Weeds all but choked out any blooming plants. It was if the lack of love and care in Dash and Lily’s relationship had spread itself over the house, cloaking everything in a miasma of decay.”

Does it get better? Does Tremayne Hall succumb to the ashes like Manderley or Thornfield, or can it, like the hero, Dash Tremayne, be transformed? Not to be a tease, but there’s only one way to find out!

• So tell me. Do you have a favorite dark and stormy tale, or do you prefer to keep your reading on the sunny side?

                                                                                                                                                                                             

Echoes In Stone~

A Victorian Gothic Romance – Available October 1, 2013

BUY: Amazon, B&N, Kobo

A letter from the grave… 

Lily is dead. But a mysterious letter launches her half-sister, Jessa Palmer, on a harrowing journey into the wilds of Cornwall to rescue Lily’s daughter from a tyrant of a father, a man who confessed to murder. Jessa follows in Lily’s footsteps to a forbidding castle on the cliffs, but discovers the past will not stay dead at Tremayne Hall. Someone—or something—wants to ensure Jessa is no more successful at escaping than was Lily.

A heart locked in stone…

Bitter, brooding, and tragically scarred, Viscount Dashiell Tremayne believes Jessa is just like her manipulative, unfaithful half-sister. He’s not about to let another treacherous woman into his home or into his heart. Particularly not a woman who’s come to steal his daughter. Only one can win in the battle for a child’s life. Then the accidents begin.

A passion that threatens to consume them…

Jessa wants only to take her niece and escape the grim manor. But Dash, fiercely protective of those he loves, gives up nothing that belongs to him. As the danger escalates, so does the heat between Jessa and Dash. Soon she’ll have to make a choice: surrender the child to a man she cannot trust or surrender her heart to the same fires of passion that destroyed Lily. Excerpt

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Kat Sheridan is a former project manager and business analyst whose very serious exterior hides a secret romantic. She is fond of books, bourbon, big words, coffee, and shiny things. Kat splits her time between the Midwest in the summer and the South in the winter, sharing her home with the love of her life and an exceedingly dignified Shih Tzu. No matter where her body is, though, Kat’s imagination can most often be found on some storm-wracked coast, plotting historical romances that include forbidding castles, menacing villains, and heartthrob heroes. She loves to hear from readers, and can be contacted at www.KatSheridan.com, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter.

BITCHES AND BASTARDS, Maybe. But No Perfect Characters Wanted

My guest, is fiction editor, Beth Hill. Her topic is on creating characters the touch readers. If you get the chance, do stop by Beth's Blog and check out her archives. She has some fabulous articles on craft and they are a great resource for writers.

I was recently  talking to a frustrated writer, frustrated because beta readers were finding fault with her lead characters.

Some readers didn’t like her male lead; others had trouble with the female. They said the characters were unsympathetic, unkind, or just not nice.

No, her leads aren’t rotten; they aren’t the bitch and bastard referred to in this article’s title. They are simply characters with character.

And isn’t that what we want for our stories, characters who stand out, who grab our attention? Don’t we want characters who make us notice them? Characters with character, characters we’ll remember for their bold actions, characters who stir our emotions? Don’t we want stories peopled with characters who aren’t safe and who don’t blend in?

The characters we most enjoy have some growing to do. They aren’t necessarily nice. They certainly aren’t insipid.

They don’t always do the right thing, say the right words, and have the correct motivations. They aren’t always politically correct and they may hurt others, both willingly and unknowingly.

They may never apologize. They may make excuses. They may lie or cheat or steal.

Characters who are bold, who aren’t always nice or polite or solicitous, are the characters readers will remember.

So why all the fuss from beta readers?

My guess is that the readers don’t want the writer to submit something they think won’t be popular with either agents or editors. Yet characters that stand out, who are outrageous or who stumble or who push the readers’ buttons, are exactly the kinds of characters agents and acquiring editors are looking for.

Who wants to read about nice characters, characters who don’t ruffle feathers or who don’t get into trouble or who always say the right thing?

Wouldn’t we rather read about flawed humans, people who make mistakes but who still manage to redeem themselves or a portion of their lives? Don’t we want bold characters who are different from us, who speak their minds—even when fearful of consequences—who press ahead despite fear and anxiety and feelings of worthlessness?

I know I’m seldom looking for nice characters. Nice characters don’t create tension—they’d work to diffuse it. Nice characters mean bland scenes and ho-hum motivations. Nice characters mean not-so-nice stories.

And lest anyone take offense, I’m not talking about doing away with characters who are good, who stand on the side of justice or integrity or decency. Good characters can be strong and bold and powerful. But nice characters, characters who don’t take stands and who have no outstanding quirks and who don’t rock the boat are not strong enough to be the leads in a novel.

Characters without flaw are flat and the stories told about them can’t draw the readers’ interest the same way stories about imperfect characters can. What surprise is there when a perfect character defeats his enemy? Doesn’t he always defeat his enemy? Was there any doubt that he’d win again?

But what about the imperfect character who’s admitted to cheating to get ahead—can he win the biggest challenge in his life without resorting to cheating again? Will those around him let him forget what he’s done before and pull for him or will they always stand against him, no matter how honest he now is? Can a rude or belligerent character change enough to get other characters on his side when it counts?

If your lead character is perfect, how will he grow? If he’s perfect, how will his next victory be any different for him than his last? If he’s perfect, how will the reader relate?

Perfect characters are fit for cartoons. It’s the flawed ones who make for fascinating fiction.

The writer I was speaking with said the characters didn’t resonate with the beta readers. Yet after hearing some of the comments her readers had made, I told her the characters certainly did resonate. They had those readers upset. The characters had succeeded in touching the readers.

And that’s exactly what you want your characters to do.

——————————-

Exceptions

~  There is a difference between characters your readers refuse to follow through a story and characters who are flawed or who have problems or who irritate the snot out of the reader.

Flawed and irritating characters belong in fiction. But characters who are poorly written or who are repulsive to most readers deserve to be shunned. Yet, keep in mind that some characters, no matter how abhorrent, can make compelling stories.

~  Genre is an important consideration for character personality. In romance, readers are going to want to like your hero and heroine, even through their flaws. Be aware of what the genre allows. Be willing to push expectations, of course. But realize that you might not change those expectations with a single book, a single severely flawed character.

But don’t necessarily bow to what the beta readers say they want. They definitely don’t want perfection in their leads. They don’t want the beautiful and perfect and flawless. They may want redeemable; they don’t want main characters who don’t ruffle feathers.

Courtesy of Free Extras

Consider Rhett and Scarlett, whose movie was on TV just in time to bring them to mind for this article. Neither Rhett nor Scarlett are perfect, but they are good characters. Great characters. They give us reasons to both loathe them and root for them. They are bold, brash, audacious, and larger than life. They pull us into their lives not by their goodness, but by their manner. Their personalities. Their daring and confidence. Who would work his way through Margaret Mitchell’s tome without the reward of Scarlett’s nerve and Rhett’s disregard for propriety?

So, be bold in ruffling feathers of both other characters and your readers and don’t be afraid of writing characters who stir the puddin’. Certainly don’t shy away from giving characters unlikable qualities. Give them those negative qualities and make us like them anyway. Or make us root for them, even if they have flaws.

Don’t play it safe with your characters.

Don’t make readers wish they had picked up a more engrossing book rather than yours.

Do remember character traits and behaviors can have a range of intensities. That is, not all characters have to operate at the peak of their traits at all times. Adapt character behavior to the story you want to create, to the needs of the scene. Use lively characters to establish tone and to make other characters nervous. Use the behavior and thoughts and words of characters to make readers uncomfortable. They’ll thank you for it. And they’ll come back for more.

*******

No, characters don’t have to be bastards or bitches or cruel or crazy or repulsive. But they could be. And if you write them well, readers will enjoy reading them.

Take your beta readers’ comments under consideration? Absolutely. But don’t allow them to strip the emotion and verve from your stories and characters. Write bold characters with quirks and faults and flaws. And remember that you don’t have to redeem them or heal all their frailties by the end of your book. You could. But if the ending, if the story, is more powerful with a still flawed protagonist limping home with the prize, then keep him flawed.

Create characters that are boldly imperfect.

And allow yourself to be bold as you envision imperfect characters to live in your story worlds.

Write strong fiction by creating characters who are far from bland and nice.

I love the written word, the ability we have to create worlds and emotions with well-chosen phrases. It’s my intention to share tips and insights and encouragement with writers at all levels, to help you craft stories that will entertain and satisfy your readers. That will help satisfy you as writer as well. I am both writer and editor. My editing focus is on long fiction, primarily novels. I also mentor beginning writers.

A Novel Edit

The Editor's Blog

CHRISTMAS JOY

As you know, I usually share holiday stories this time of the year by talented writers who've given them to me to use. What makes them interesting, at least to me, is they're written in various genres by men and women. I'll be running more next week in between guests. 


I have two stories I tend to use every year. They're favorites of mine. One is called Christmas Joy, by Beth Hill, and the other is The Gift, by Rand Phares. Why are they favorites? Both highlight faith and hope and they touch the heart. 


So today, I'm sharing one of my favorites with you by the talented Beth Hill. I love her writing. For those of you who don't know Beth, she is a fiction editor and you can find her at A Novel Edit or The Editor's Blog (she has an article up on her blog on weeding out author intrusion). 


Enjoy!

Sarah inhaled the fragrances of cinnamon and sugar and the chocolate chips melting into gooey deliciousness in the oven. Homey smells. Christmas smells.

She wanted to sit, relax, to inhale more than smells. She wanted the peace of the season to wash over her, still her racing mind and ease her fractured soul. But if she stopped moving, sorrow would overwhelm. She knew it. Had given in last Christmas. And again on his birthday. She’d been unable to resist the lure of peace on those two days.

But peace had eluded her. And instead grief had stolen into her home, into her mind and heart. And she’d cried out her anger and sorrow and loss, collapsing on her kitchen floor in a tangle of oven mitts and tears and memories.  And standing again, facing life again, had been nearly impossible.

She reached for the oven door just before the timer buzzed, and pulled out the tray of perfect cookies. His favorite. She baked them every year. He couldn’t get enough. And she’d watch as he devoured one after another, following every third bite or so with a gulp of cold milk. And he’d grin, crumbs clinging to his lips, knowing she got a kick out of his passion for home-baked cookies made just for him.

She scoured the kitchen; focusing on making perfect and whole those things she had control over. And pushed far from her mind the events she couldn’t influence or change. But she left the cookies mounded on wax paper since Mac liked them that way. Liked reaching across the counter and plucking one or two or five whenever he wanted them.

The reflection from the tree beckoned her to the living room and the large glass windows that framed it. She’d stop for only a moment, her heart promised her head. Just a brief passage of time to watch the snowfall, to admire the twinkling lights as they pushed against the darkness both inside and out. Just a moment . . .

When the clocked chimed nine, Sarah jumped. Then smiled. Silly to feel guilty over losing herself in memories of her husband. She wouldn’t break down this Christmas. She’d learned that lesson. Plus, the news had been better this year. The better news being they’d actually heard news. The first reliable report since her captain had gone missing sixteen months earlier.

Chaplain Anderson had called in October. One of the Resolute Seven—prisoners held for over four months in a no-name cave in Afghanistan—had mentioned Mac—someone who sounded like Mac, please God—in his briefing. So this year she’d added hope to her arsenal of determination and faith and prayers. This year she wouldn’t give in to despair.

She pressed her fingers against the cold glass. Closed her eyes and lowered her head.

“Keep him warm tonight. Please. Hold him in Your arms since he doesn’t have mine. Fill his heart with Your love, with my devotion. And give Him your peace.”

Sarah leaned against her hand and stared into the night. So quiet. So pure.

So lonely.

“And please hold me. Because I’m afraid I can’t hold on any longer.”

She returned to the kitchen. In the near dark she pulled milk from the fridge and poured a tall glass. She piled cookies on a plate and arranged plate and milk on the reindeer placemat at the head of the table. She fussed with a linen napkin, flattening it again and again until she realized what she was doing and yanked her hands away.  Enough of that. She still had presents to wrap, gifts for her brother’s family. She turned. And blinked.

The front door was opening, three men stepping through.

Chaplain Anderson, removing his hat. Colonel Ryan, Mac’s CO, holding the arm of another man. That other man dangling a key from his fingers.

The third man lifted his head at her gasp. Then grinned. And then he was rushing to her and squeezing her and kissing her face.

“Sarah. My God, Sarah.”

And then Sarah was on her knees, holding Mac, holding a dream, and kissing him back. Touching him everywhere. Crying and laughing and shaking so much she thought she’d finally snapped and lost her mind.

But when Mac pulled back and grasped her face between his hands, when she could see his eyes and into his soul, she knew he was not imagined but real and in their home.

In her arms.

She stared in wonder for a timeless instant, then sobs burst from her chest and she burrowed into Mac, clutching him, trying to breathe, trying to think. Trying not to feel because the emotions were stretching her beyond her limits and shattering her mind.

“I smell cookies.” That was the colonel.

Mac laughed. He laughed. Sarah gripped him even tighter.

“Sir, those are my cookies. All mine. I’ve been dreaming of them for days. And I’m sorry to say, you won’t get a single taste.”

Sarah wiped her face against Mac’s coat. Trust her man to get to the heart of any matter.

“Sarah? You ready to stand now? I wanna get this coat off and hold you properly.”

“Major, I believe this is where Chaplain Anderson and I bid you goodnight. And Merry Christmas.”

Sarah scrambled to her feet, pulling at Mac, searching his face. Thin. Lined. Hers. “How? When?” She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in an uneven breath. He was still there when she opened her eyes. “Major?” She twisted to look at Colonel Ryan, but turned immediately back to Mac. “I was just asking God to hold you, since I couldn’t. And now you’re here. You’re here.”

Mac saluted the other men as they eased out the door, but didn’t turn from Sarah. “He held me, baby. Every day I felt His protection and your love entwined, binding me in strength and hope.” He stepped close to her and again wrapped her face in his palms. His hands were shaking. “Tonight we hold each other.”

She lifted her hands to his where they framed her cheeks. His gaze was locked on her face. “Why didn’t you call? Have you seen a doctor? What happened? Mac . . . What happened?”

He leaned his forehead against hers, still unwilling to relax his hold. “I needed to be with you before the news broke, baby. I need you at my side to get through the rest of this. To he—” His voice broke and he hauled her against his chest.

“I’m here always. Forever.”
“I know,” he whispered against her neck. “And that’s what saw me through.” His entire body shook, vibrating against hers. “I didn’t break, Sarah. Not once. Not until a couple of Special Forces guys hauled me out. And then I cried like a baby.”

“Mac . . . ”

“My Sarah.” His lips feathered over hers. “Merry Christmas, wife.”

She slid her arms inside his coat and dug her fingers into his back. “Merry Christmas, major. I love you.” She closed her eyes.  Thank You. For holding him. For bringing him home. For returning my heart.

My pleasure, Sarah. My very great pleasure.  Merry Christmas to you and peace to this home.