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?
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!