Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts

July 16, 2025

Challenge Given by Carol Harrison




When I began writing, I only wrote non-fiction memoir style stories and one book. It became my comfort zone. I had no intention of branching out into other genres. Then one of my grandsons challenged me to try and write fiction – any type. He didn’t give up on checking on me. I decided to accept his challenge and attempt to write a fiction book. I did it.

Now I had two genres to play around with and I thought that would be the end of the story. I would work on the craft, learn what I could, and hopefully continue to improve. Then one of my granddaughters challenged me to attend a poetry writing workshop with her at our local library. I went with her and discovered we wouldn’t just learn about poetry but be expected to write some. I didn’t think I could fulfill this part of the challenge but what do you do but try as a grandchild waits for you to step up and keep trying.

Now maybe my family could be satisfied with the diversity of my writing. I continued to attempt more poetry, write several fiction books, as well as more memoir style stories and devotionals. I thought that should be an acceptable range.

But before my husband passed away he threw out several challenges. One was a memoir style story. Okay. I had written that genre before. But the other one would be new. He challenged me to write a Love Inspired style romance novel.

I enjoy the light reading of this style of books and had read many of them over the years. Now with Brian’s challenge fresh in my mind, I signed out stories from the library and curled up to read for pleasure and for research. I went to the guidelines for writing and submitting these stories and studied them carefully. I joined the Facebook group Write for Harlequin and found feedback from others who were published and those, like me, who might try and one day have a Love Inspired book. The writing guidelines provided the accepted formula they are looking for in each book, the word count, and the types of stories they are seeking.

Could I actually attempt this? Should I accept the challenge thrown out to me? I must admit to wanting to forget the challenge and yet it kept coming up in conversation. I started a story and finished a few chapters before getting stuck. I researched some more and came back to write a little more. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded and I put it away just before my husband passed away. I must admit it sits on my computer, unfinished. I haven’t looked at it in two years. Maybe it’s long enough to see it with fresh eyes. Will it ever get further than sitting on my computer? It depends on what the finished product is like, whether I choose to submit it or not. For now it is a venture into a new genre I had never written in before. Maybe this blog post theme will push me to go back to the waiting story and see where I’m at with it. Challenges can be good for a person. It moves them out of their comfort zone. I know it has me over the years.

Carol Harrison loves to do the reading more than writing in a different genre. Yet the research aspect of the reading is great fun. Her favourite chair at her home in Saskatoon begs for someone to curl up with a good book, a fun story, or something to make a person think. 
 

July 13, 2023

Take Me Away: A Poem about Genre by Steph Beth Nickel


Inspiration for this poem came from John Truby, who wrote The Anatomy of Genres.

 

Carry me off to worlds unknown, of dragons and hobbits and fae,

To planets and worlds beyond our own; oh, what a marvelous day!

 

Tell me the stories of worlds began, where darkness and light compete,

Or stories of ranchers way out west who never admit defeat.

 

Show me the heroes battling crime—detectives, PIs, and more,

Let me see from the other side what happens behind closed doors.

 

Make me laugh and make me gasp; I’m on the edge of my chair,

I love to be breathless and laugh out loud; a story can take me there.

 

They’re growing up and finding out who they’re meant to be,

Now looking back at what has been, of what they now can see.

 

What motivates and drives us on; what makes the story shine?

No matter what genre, it’s all about love, love of many kinds.

 

Stories may take us far away or take us deep inside,

The best of them will help us grow while on an incredible ride.

November 22, 2021

Marriage: My Defining Moment by Alan Anderson

 


“For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.”--Ephesians 5:31.


I pondered the writing prompts for this month for days to prepare for the post. My life is blessed with many defining moments. Each is a story, an unfolding of chapters in my life. For this post I decided to write on one defining moment.

 

 


My Marriage

Next to my life as a Christian, marriage is my greatest defining moment. Marriage, the most intimate relationship between a woman and a man. A precious life shared by two people who cannot live without each other. This is how I see my marriage.

 

 

Years ago, when I was a young pastor, our church membership included several older married couples. I often watched them interact with each other. I viewed them like models of the evergreen trees I see every day and throughout the years.

 

 

My wife Terry and I live close to mountains and farms. Evergreen trees clothe the mountains which shelter the animals and birds native to the area. They encounter storms which seek to tear them apart. They endure pounding rain, freezing temperatures of winter, and scorching heat of summer. Through all this, the evergreens stand against the elements like fierce warriors.

 

 

The married couples I mentioned earlier were like these evergreen trees. As my relationship with these older couples matured, their stories taught me to stand firm in commitment to my marriage. Terry and I faced challenges through the years, and our marriage is stronger. In May 2022 we look forward to celebrating our forty-fourth wedding anniversary, Lord willing.

 

 

Marriage brings times of dance and romance. Believe me, I am not a model of a dancer. When certain music comes on, the wannabe dancer in me comes to life. I will grab Terry’s hand and show her my dance moves. For whatever reason, this always gives her reason to giggle. Perhaps this is a time for her to giggle at my wiggle.

 

 

Romance isn’t only for the young. Now I am older, I still see a need to perfect how I romance my wife. Romance, perhaps aside from the more physical intimacy, can be expressed in other ways. When I cook Terry a special meal, I invite her to sit back and enjoy the time. I still open doors for her and pull her chair out for her when we go to a restaurant for dinner (although this doesn’t happen often during the pandemic.) A favourite name I use for her is, “my darling.” Sometimes I look at her without her knowledge and think, “Wow, I am a blessed man!”

 


 

Marriage brings times of hugs and tears. Terry and I have both mourned the death of our parents. We also shed tears when five of our grandchildren went to heaven before they reached birth. We are adult orphans and grandparents who grieve.

 

 

We cherish our life together through the times of dance and romance and the hugs and tears. Hugs and their closeness bring smiles in the times of laughter, tears, and the between times. Believe me, I am a big hugger.

 

 

Marriage embraces me like a warm, intimate hug without end. Marriage also absorbs into my skin and covers me with my wife, my children, my grandchildren, and memories of those loved.

 


 


Alan lives in Deroche, B.C. with his wife, Terry. He contributed stories to Good Grief People by Angel Hope Publishing, 2017; Story by Story: The Power of a Writer, Unstoppable Writers Publishing, 2018. Alan has also written articles for FellowScript Magazine. Blog: https://scarredjoy.ca.

Alan has written blog posts for our InScribe blog since 2015.


June 11, 2014

The "Romanced Path" by Connie Inglis

The more I get to know each of you, the more I've come to realize that I'm not the only one with a love/hate relationship with writing. Your honesty encourages me and keeps me writing. For me, when the writing flows, it is pure joy. But then there are days, weeks and months when writing is pure struggle. In those times, it is good for me to ponder the answers to the following two questions:

1. When did you realize you were romanced by words, language and writing?

I was romanced by writing when I was nine. (See pic--I'm the one in the pink dress.) That year I started my first book. It was a science fiction that was more inspired by my enjoyment of drawing aliens than anything else. I kept my on-going manuscript a secret--hidden in a brown manila envelope inside the closet of the bedroom I shared with two of my sisters. One day I sought out that treasured envelope only to discover that my mom had cleaned out the closet and had thrown out a lot of junk, my envelope included. I sensed that nobody seemed to care but I was devastated. It took me years before I started writing again just for the pure joy of it all.

However, I was still romanced by the nuances of words and the uniqueness of languages, even the whys and hows of English grammar fascinated me. Long story short, it was this God-instilled passion that led me to study linguistics and then join Wycliffe Bible Translators. I cannot count how many languages I've had the opportunity to "taste," whether for an assignment or for survival, and I have never tired of the uniqueness of each one. I just get to keep falling in love with words and language over and over again. (The photo below shows the Shatikha language of Myanmar.)
 

Here's a poem I recently wrote about this God-instilled passion:                                 
                                                     
LOGOLEPSY--by Connie Inglis

I'm calling it a day
a year
a lifetime
with this terminal
disease.

I lie in bed--defining
dividing
conjugating                                                               Thai language. "Hello"    verbs and nouns, unable to
terminate.

"Call it a day," I whisper
I state
I explete--but
my mind refuses
treatment.

My partner linguist says enjoy                                 
savour
appreciate this
awe-full disease--
Logolepsy.

2. How does Jesus the Bridegroom romance you with His words to you?

The answer to this question brings me back to how I returned to writing. As a young mom, I started to journal but found little time to do it faithfully which was often more of a frustration than a joy. Mostly I wrote because it helped me process life.

Then there was a time when I even stopped journaling. It was when we first moved to Thailand. Our daughter, who was only ten, went through a time of intense spiritual attack. She could physically see a demon in her bedroom at night, laughing malevolently at her. No matter how much we prayed, nothing seemed to get rid of it. I won't go into more detail than that (that story is for another time) except to say that it did end. However, it was a dark time for me spiritually. I was angry at God and I questioned what He was doing.

Then, when that same daughter was in grade 12, I joined a Bible study with a group of moms that all had children in grade 12. We studied the book, Age of Opportunity, by Paul David Tripp. It was through this book and this wonderful group of ladies that Jesus wooed me back to Himself. He was gentle and tender and loving and kind to me when I was bedraggled and closed-off. I was a slow learner but He was patient. He reminded me of His relentless love for me over and over again, often through vivid word pictures. And as I learned to trust in His love, I learned to write again.

With each step I took closer to Him, I discovered other authors that took me deeper: John Eldredge, Brennan Manning, Francis Chan, Ann Voskamp. Worship music as well took on a whole new meaning. It's been an amazing and beautiful ride. I have found such a freedom in His love--freedom to write songs and poetry and stories. Even freedom to paint again (that too is another story).

One of the verses that He gave me along the way is Song of Solomon 7:10--"I am my Beloved's and His desire is for me." (ESV) The Bridegroom is so in love with His Bride that His sole desire is for her. That word picture can bring me to tears because He's talking about His love for ME!

I am so thankful that He has never given up on me--that my relationship with Him is a romance. I realize too that His relationship with the world is a romance and that it is this romance that He calls me, calls all of us, to write about.

February 15, 2014

Love is Bigger than Romance - Tracy Krauss

Valentine's Day came and went yesterday and if it wasn't for my romance loving spouse, I probably wouldn't have noticed. (Except for the RED HEARTS, chocolate, and all the other commercial reminders in every store.) Here is the crazy thing about it. I am actually NOT  a very romantic person. My husband readily admits he is the romantic in our union and our children laugh at us because I am always the one balking at 'too much sappy-ness'. He loves all that mushy stuff.

My rule: No PDAs! Gerald's rule: Ignore Tracy and constantly embarrass her in front of others with Public Displays of Affection. I can just hear one of my kids saying, "Come on, Mom. Snuggle up with Dad on the couch and watch a romantic movie."  Sigh. (My movie choice is a twisted paranormal or Sci-fi flick.)

Yet...
I write romance novels. And I read a fair number of them, too, usually for review. Okay, and I watch (and enjoy) a good romantic comedy when my husband twists my arm... probably not that much twisting involved, although I like to make a lot of noise and roll my eyes.

If I am truthful, I actually AM a romantic at heart. I've just had a lot of practice pretending not to be. I think I'm finally coming out of the closet. You see, my husband knows me better than I know myself. He knows that I actually love it when he brings me flowers or when he constantly says nice things. (I know some of you are finding it hard to believe that too many compliments can get irritating...) He ignores my rolling eyes and cries of 'Sappy!" or 'Lame!" and smiles, continuing to lavish me with such ridiculous shows of affection. AND I LOVE HIM FOR IT. 

I thank God everyday that He put me with a man who loves me and doesn't mind telling me (or the world) that this is so. Despite my whining, how horrible it would be to be stuck in a marriage yearning for affection. I know this is the case for many once the honeymoon phase has passed. Perhaps this is why I find it easy to write romance novels and believe in that kind of love - the kind where the hero only has eyes for his lady; the kind that lasts for more than thirty years. (We're on our thirty-first year of marriage and thirty-fourth year together.)

God knows best. He knew I probably had self esteem issues (who doesn't?) and needed a man who would relentlessly romance me despite myself. My husband isn't perfect, but he is perfect FOR ME and I thank God for putting two unlikely people like us together.

Lest you think I am totally heartless, I will direct hubs to read this post once he gets home from work. Oh - and I've given in to the PDA thing. A waitress asked us once if we were newly weds. We just looked at each other and laughed. My husband's answer: "She's still my beautiful bride."

Tracy Krauss lives with her oh-so-romantic husband Gerald in beautiful Tumbler Ridge, BC. For more visit her website: http://tracykrauss.com


February 15, 2011

The Sappy Sentimentalist - Tracy Krauss

If someone was to ask you what the largest fiction genre was in terms of sheer numbers of books printed each year, what would your answer be? Mystery? Historical? How about Romance? The latter would be my guess, and judging by the category lists on Amazon, I'd say I am probably correct. What is it about LOVE that keeps readers coming back for more? I mean, how many times can the same plot line be reworked?

At the risk of sounding cynical, I have to bite my tongue when it comes to yet another cover featuring a woman in a bonnet, laces blowing in the breeze. At least that's better than a swooning damsel clinging breathlessly to a half naked swashbuckler. You see, I've almost prided myself on the fact that I am not typically 'sentimental'. To me, sentimental is synonymous with another 'S' word - 'sappy'. This has been a continuing source of frustration for my oh-so-romantic husband. Don't get me wrong. I like flowers and I like chocolates and I enjoy a romantic comedy on occasion - but I'd much prefer a good Sci-Fi/ Action/ Thriller with a crazy twist at the end.

So how is it that I've come to write 'Romantic Suspense'? (I much prefer to call my writing style 'edgy inspirational with a twist of romance' but somehow that doesn't come off so well in a category listing!)  Perhaps I'm not such a cynic when it comes to romance after all.  You see, I have come to notice that even Sci-Fi/ Action/ Thrillers usually have a romantic element woven in there somewhere, and I'm sure without it, I would feel like there was something missing. There is something inside of us that craves LOVE, perhaps because we were created that way by a loving Father. God is, after all, the author of love, and He made us in His own likeness. Now there's a thought! Created in the image of a God who is LOVE embodied - so much so that He was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to demonstrate that love, in that "while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."

LOVE  is a powerful force. In its human form it has been driving mankind for millenia. How many wars have been fought for the sake of love? How many epic poems written or materpieces of music composed? And even more powerful, in its Godly form, love changed the course of all human history.

So, back to my original question: How many times can the same plot line be reworked? Let's see . . . I guess as many times as there are human beings on this earth and as many times as there is a loving God who watches over us.

Thanks for the aopportunity to share my ramblings here at 'Inscribe Writers Online'. P.S. I hope you all realize that I'm really not as cynical as I pretend to be when it comes to love. I have been known to sneak a romance novel into the bathroom and even snuggle on the couch with my husband while crying my eyes out over a stupid 'sappy' movie. :)

Posted by Tracy Krauss

February 05, 2009

La Cafe Amore - Pamela Mytroen


“La Café Amore”

Is it really mine?

I stood back and admired my sign again, for the third time this morning. My left hand still embraced the lock on the carved iron door. Though I’d been open for six months my hands still shook everyday as I opened my restaurant.

Especially this morning. I noticed him again. He had driven by yesterday too, I was sure.

The little bags of cinnamon and saffron dropped and spilled on my shoes in puffs of orange and yellow. I felt, more than saw him as I brushed the spice with my mail back into the bags. He approached on the steps behind me as I hurried to clean up the first of my daily disasters.

What was that scent? Not the exotic aroma of saffron. Fear. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“Can I help you?” I asked. My face flamed as bright as the cinnamon on my hands and under my nails.

I can help you right back to your fancy car. Men with name tags and briefcases make me nervous. I don’t need another messy rehab.

“Oh. Hi.” I left the rest of the spice and stood. Maybe I do want to get into a mess. With this guy. His thick dark hair had been finger combed to messy perfection, complementing his five-after-nine in the morning facial shadow. A quick vertical inspection and I was already singed by the heat. Mmmm. I could get cozy here.

After all, Saskatchewan winters are made for the wood stove. And this guy was putting out. Something told me though, that I shouldn’t be staring at his chiseled jaw. I focused on his chest instead.

“Come in.” My upper lip stuck to my teeth. I pried it off with my tongue. Quit being so nervous. Just runway material breathing on me. And now he thinks I’m Forest Gump’s sister.

My bright orange and red Moroccan rug greeted us as we stepped in. I flicked on the lighting. Wrought iron lanterns came to life above and on the wall sconces.

My morning routine of inhaling deeply and enjoying the ambience was dampened with the guy behind me. Instead of running my hand over the iron backed chairs and along the flowered mosaic tiles over the fireplace, I marched in rhythm to the clicking he was orchestrating. I looked around, and hoped for at least a smile but I saw a silver pen instead, and this thumb giving the clicking orders.

Maybe my lemon meringue pie would appease Mr. Silver Pen. Or perhaps a glass of bubbly mint tea. Nah, he didn’t look the type. He looked French. And I could do French. I do have chocolate filled pastry, I thought, as I meandered through a Moroccan salon, set with a knee high mosaic table and iron day beds.

Click. Click.

Freddie, focus. I’m stable. I’m past the depression. I will keep my job this time.

I stopped and re-arranged a group of silk embroidered pillows. Somebody had left them all in a row on a day-bed. I tossed the pillows until they resembled a windswept pile of autumn leaves. One fell on the floor. Perfect.

This is my café. And I’m going to hang on to it. I’ll never go back again.

Mr. Savoir Faire slapped his briefcase on the counter beside my till.

Now my legs were shaking too, in rhythm to his pen.

What does this three piece suit want?

I stepped into my tiny kitchen and stood behind the till. He had blue eyes. And they were round and soft. But his voice betrayed them.

“Coffee?” I asked. I knew what he’d say. ‘Chai Tea Latte.’ Of course he’d want real tea, not syrup for this Da Vinci. And skip the whipped cream. Cinnamon maybe.

I thought I detected a smile but it faded when he pulled a business card from his jacket. I grabbed the till, determined not to sign a contract for overpriced laundry service. What’s that phrase Marsha has been trying to teach me? NO. That’s it. No, I’m not interested. But I was interested. I was. In his eyes. There was something hiding behind them. He needed me.

“Cooler.”

“Pardon me, sir?”

I glanced at his business card lying on top of his briefcase. “Health Inspector”.

I stepped back. If only it was a chai latte he’d wanted. I’d even talk laundry service. A cold chill crawled up the back of my neck. I pictured the kitchen behind me. I had bleached the countertops and sinks last night. Breathe. I had changed the filter on the drinking water. But the cooler? Could rigamortisis grow at 40 degrees? I had enough dead cilantro in there to feed a herd of camels.

He pointed his chin, that perfectly sculpted chin, at the door to the cooler. I could get distracted. Wish he could. No, Mr. Professional was fixated on my cooler door.

Just when I’d thought he couldn’t complete an entire sentence, he said, “I’d like to see the thermometer from your cooler.”

The hair on my arms lay back down. Ahhhhh. No need to worry about the ufo’s, those unidentified fuzzy objects, growing on the carrots. I'll just pluck the thermometer from the back wall and bring it out. But of course I opened my mouth and discovered a new meaning to the word stupid. “I’ll take you right in.”


Pam Mytroen
(First scene of a little romance I'm working on)