Series or Single Novels

I have a question, dear readers. I have quite a few projects in mind for the world of Concordia. I’m talking seven projects including Faith in Concordia. So, here’s the question.
 
Shall I keep writing each project as a series or would you rather have single novels? Future books in the series will likely be the same length as FIC.
 
Single novels would be released either yearly or every six months. I’m not sure yet. Series would be released every four months. The next series will probably come out January 2020, but it might be sooner. Let me know what you think! Send me a message through the Contact page or comment on this post.
 
Titles for future projects:
Hope in Concordia
Love in Concordia
Joy in Concordia
Peace in Concordia
Unity in Concordia
Justice in Concordia

Delaying Release of Kept

This is my frustration face. Folks, I have been dealing with some major pain since July and it has hindered my ability to sit or do anything for a long time, which has also affected my motivation. Writing Kept is, therefore, taking longer than I anticipated. I want to give you a great read, not something rushed, so I’m pushing out the date to December 21. I’m so sorry to disappoint, but hopefully, the conclusion to the Faith in Concordia series will be worth the wait.

Meme Monday: Mystery Orbs

What do you think this is about? What is happening to Faith in this scene?

On a side note, I’ll be super busy writing over the next few weeks, so I’ll likely only be posting Meme Mondays and WoD Wednesday, along with any news that may pop up. If I’m feeling a mental itch, I may post on other days, but only count on these for at least two weeks.

Illumisprucers

JBF Mt. Vernon

I’m at Just Between Friends in Mt. Vernon at the Skagit County Fairgrounds! Selling and signing my books! Come check it out!

WoD Wednesday: Enigmatic

Enigmatic: Adjective: Of, relating to, or resembling an enigma: mysterious

Enigmatic

“I don’t get it. What do girls see in him?” I feel like gagging as I watch the crowd of Theo’s admirers hanging on his every word at the table across the cafeteria.

“Jealous?” My best friend waggles her eyebrows at me and I roll my eyes.

“Don’t be absurd, Wren. I’m not jealous. Why would I need to be jealous? He’s my friend.”

“Right. Friend.”

“Really.”

“V, most boys who are just friends do not go out of their way to stop by the girl’s house after work late at night.”

I shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you. As far as I know, there’s no interest in me there.”

Her eyes widen. “But you’re interested in him?”

Crap. I kind of let that slip.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Our friend, Bae, sits at the table with us and begins ripping open his ten packets of ketchup for his pizza. Ew.

“Hey, ladies.”

“Really, Bae?” Wren says incredulously and he chuckles. Noting the direction of my gaze, he says, “Did you hear the latest?”

I frown and look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Theo. He’s dating Cherry.”

Wren’s mouth gapes open and my heart rips a bit. Cherry the head cheerleader is dating Theo? What the heck? Is that why he hasn’t come over the last few days? Why was he coming over so late if he was interested in her? He could have at least had the decency to tell me himself.

I mean, I know I just told Wren we were just friends, but really? I thought I was getting vibes from him. I guess I was wrong.

“He’s so enigmatic,” I mutter under my breath.

“More like a jerk,” Wren says.

“Whatever. You guys want some pizza?” Bae is clueless, but I appreciate the distraction.

“That’s so gross, Bae,” I say.

“Thanks,” he responds. I stab at my pizza with a fork. “Hey, V?”

I look up and he’s suddenly serious.

“What?”

“He’s nuts for not choosing you.” Bae takes a giant bite of his cheese pizza smothered in ketchup.

I chuckle. “Thanks, Bae.”

He’s right, of course. I sigh, then laugh at Bae’s expression of euphoria as he scarfs down his food. Some boys suck. Thank goodness they aren’t all like that.

Enigma

Never Forget

“Ugh. It’s too early to be awake. Why did we have to take a zero period class, Sonya?” I ask my best friend as we share the bathroom mirror. She practically lives at my house, so it’s not unusual for her to stay over on a school night.

“Jazz.”

Ah yes. Jazz. That’s why we get up at the butt crack of dawn during our Senior year in high school.

Just as we’re finishing up, someone knocks at the door.

“We’ll be out in a minute!” I shout. Gosh. Why doesn’t my family understand the necessity of a teenage girl preparing herself for the day?

“You need to come see this,” Dad says through the door. “Someone crashed a plane into one of the Twin Towers in New York.” My dad has a sick sense of humor.

“That’s not funny, Dad.”

“I-I’m not joking.”

I roll my eyes at Sonya, not believing I’m actually going to go out to look at the television. He’s probably just trying to get us out of the bathroom. Feeling dumb, I turn the knob and we follow Dad down the short hallway to the living room.

What?

No. That can’t be real. It has to be some special effect, right?

One of the towers is billowing with smoke. All those people. Why? Who would do this? Terrorists, they say. A close up of the building reveals someone jumping from a window too high for survival. Sonya chokes next to me and I feel tears welling up in my eyes.

I don’t know these people. I have no connection to them. I don’t know anyone in New York, but the sheer loss of so many people breaks me. I don’t know how long we stand there staring at the television, but eventually, Dad says we need to get to school.

Get to school? What? Who can concentrate on our education at a time like this?

Dad has his no funny business voice on, though, so we leave. We get into my little lime green VW Beetle and head to school. Normally, I turn on music, but today, I switch over to the news.

When we’re halfway there, the second building is struck. Slowing down way below the speed limit, I sob. I know my makeup is ruined, but I don’t care. I don’t think Sonya does either.

After parking, we enter the school. TV’s in all the classrooms are on the news. I peek inside to see both buildings now smoking. The hallway in front of the choir room holds several dazed classmates. All we can talk about is what’s going on.

Entering the choir room, we try to sing, but don’t get very far into it. Within a half hour into class, another plane hits the Pentagon. No one can sing right now.

It occurs to me that Dad is retired from the Air Force. Is he going to be recalled? I cry. There’s no way I could handle that.

School starts, but all anyone does is watch the television. I missed it happening, but apparently, a plane heading to the Capitol or White House crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. The passengers fought back.

Finally, the school gives up and dismisses early. The rest of the day is a blur of watching the television with rapid heart beats and swollen eyes from crying. It’s my generation’s Pearl Harbor, they say. It’s a day we’ll never forget.

 

Never Forget 9.11

WoD Wednesday on Thursday: Buttonhole

Buttonhole: Noun: To detain in conversation by or as by holding on to the outer garments of

Buttonhole

There are two types of people who shop at malls. Those who want to take their time and look at everything, and those who are on a mission. Today, I’m on a mission.

On the way to a wedding, we stopped for gas. I opened the back door to make sure my daughter was doing okay, but didn’t realize she had balanced her cup between her booster and the door. When it crashed to the ground, the lid popped off and drenched my dress in chocolate milk. Obviously, I can’t wear it now. Our house is forty-five minutes away, so I can’t go home first. The mall is the only option.

“In and out,” my husband says.

“Then you should both wait here,” I respond.

“I want to go in the mall!” my daughter whinges from the backseat.

Unbuckling, I speak to her a little more harshly than necessary. But gosh darn it! I’m irritated.

“We wouldn’t even need to make the stop if you had used your cupholder like you’re supposed to.”

Now standing outside in the doorway, I look back and see her bottom lip trembling. We really don’t have time for a meltdown.

“If you’re good with Daddy while I’m in, we will think of something special to do for you after the wedding. Okay?”

Barely catching her enthusiastic nod, I slam the door and begin running as fast as I can in high heels. Just before I get to the door, my heel catches on a crack and I hit the ground onto my knees hard.

Ouch.

Great. Now my dress is not only dirty, but ruined. The pretty chiffon now sports several tears where it smashed into the ground. Pulling myself up onto shaky legs, I brush my front with my hands and limp the rest of the way in.

The gal at the kiosk nearest to the door clearly saw me biff it and looks at me with concerned eyes. I have a rule about kiosks, since I don’t really like talking to people I don’t know or being manipulated in general.

Don’t make eye contact. If you don’t make eye contact, you can pretend you didn’t hear and just keep walking. No social faux pas committed.

Unfortunately, I’m so frazzled by one thing after another going wrong, I break the rule and meet her gaze. Hoping to salvage the shattering of Mall Rule Number One, I give her an embarrassed smile and try to walk past her. The store I’m going for is just beyond her booth.

No such luck. Of course.

“Oh my! I saw you take a tumble out there. Are you alright?” she asks with a terribly false British accent. I’m a Whovian. I know a fake accent when I hear it.

“Uh. Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just need to get a new dress.” I point at the store as I keep moving, but she nonchalantly steps in front of me.

Really?

“You should let me help you out. This skincare line has a great scar prevention cream.”

“I doubt I’ll scar. I’ve had worse falls before.”

Bending over, she examines my knees. Now people are starting to stare.

“You’re bleeding.”

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

“Yes. I have a first aid kit in my car. I’ll take care of it after I buy my dress. I’m on my way to a wedding.”

Hint. Hint.

“Besides that,” she seems to ignore what I’m saying, “Your knees look a little dry. Would you like to try our special lotion for dry skin?”

“No thanks. That will just smear the blood. Maybe I can come back in after I clean up.”

I have no intention of coming back in. She knows it. Pursing my lips, I walk around the kneeling woman to the store, pretending like I can’t hear her continue speaking to me. I don’t have time for her to buttonhole me here.

Once in the store, I beeline straight to the clearance rack. In a stroke of luck, which has evaded me up until now, I find a nice dress I’ll probably wear more than once for a decent price. With a sigh of relief, I pay for it. The lady behind the counter notices my knees and offers their first aid kit and restroom to clean up and change. I take her up on it.

Feeling refreshed, I wave at the nice sales associate and walk toward my exit. This time, I follow my rule.

“Oh! You got cleaned up. Come here so I can give you a free…”

I don’t hear the rest of what she’s saying because I’m out the door on the way to my car. Was that rude? Maybe. But I have a wedding to get to and a daughter to hopefully reward for good behavior.

Buttonhole