All her life, Jane believes she is small-town ordinary. . . until she isn’t. Some people brand her a witch because of the cat while others believe she has a demon. Her family thinks she’s ready for the nursing home, and the down-and-out reporter assumes she’s a fake. But nobody, including Jane, can figure out how she does it: heal the sick. All the sick. All the time. Is it a gift of God? The Church is divided. Then, everything erupts when the foreigners arrive along with the government people and the scientists. Will Jane become a pawn or save herself?
What a Character!
Quite a few “characters” have floated in and out of my life. I’m sure you could say the same. They are the colorful bits; they are the ones we remember for a long time.
Charlie rented one of our rooms on Park Avenue when I was a child. He had what I now know was a trigger finger, his ring finger, on his right hand. He was a heavy smoker and spent a lot of time hanging out on our porch. Gruff and grizzly, most of the time, he indulged a 2nd grader who had lots and lots of questions. And then he was gone.
Genres. Who Needs Them? Do You?
We are in a culture of labels.
We label people and attitudes and houses and neighborhoods and cities. And of course, books. In some cases, I’m aware that labels can be helpful. I certainly appreciate finding the right size clothing and I confess, if I’m at the used clothing store, I gravitate to familiar labels/brands. I’m glad that foods are labeled with nutrition facts and whether they are spicey. I’m grateful for the “skull & crossbones” to warn me of poisons and toxic materials.But honestly, haven’t we taken this labeling a bit too far?
Miracles as Viral News
Is This Book About Me?
When I give my little “elevator” speech about Sister Jane, I feel compelled to mention that she is, a) an older woman and b) grew up in a small town.
One friend immediately asked me, “what’s older?” I’m afraid to answer that. I know, whether I like it or not, that I am considered older. My worst birthday year was not when I turned fifty, but fify-five. At that point (although I think this category has since changed), I would be in the great miasma of fifty-five and up. I would be in that last check box. Now, if that doesn’t make a poor girl feel old, I don’t know what does. I’m curious what you all think? And although the last check box has changed, I’ve managed to grow into that one as well.
How Sister Jane, The Book, Was Born
We read memoirs and articles about writers - we want to be inspired. We attend conferences and subscribe to writer's magazines - we want to be encouraged. We talk about writing, a lot!