Welcome Jennette Mbewe and Secrets Kept

Today I would like to welcome an author I enjoy reading and knowing, Jennette Mbewe. She is here today as a guest post to promote her book Secrets Kept.

Be sure to enter the giveaway at the bottom. Jennette Mbewe and I are two of three authors of The Clockwork Dragon and we are giving a paperback with all three authors' signature, or you could win an e-copy of Jennette's short story, Desert Rose.

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With a curse, she will build an army. With the dagger, she will undo the last sacrifice. But first the sorceress must find the secret keeper.

Torn from her homeland and thrust into a betrothal against her wishes, Ayianna learns her family has a deadly secret that now has her on the run. She joins forces with Kael, an embittered half-elf, and Saeed, an elderly High Guardian, to seek answers to her father's death, the destruction of Dagmar, and the plains people's bizarre behavior.
Ayianna discovers there is more at stake here than just her mother's disappearance and her familial duty to her betrothed. The sorceress has cursed the plains people, and it is a race against time to release them before the sorceress resurrects an ancient evil.

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I have asked Jennette to share with us how God has been a part of this journey in publishing Secrets Kept.

Welcome Jennette.

First I want to thank Lynn Donovan for participating in the cover reveal yesterday and for allowing me to share with you all my journey today. J

About ten years ago, I was reading through the parable of the talents. The one with the master, the three servants and a bag of talents. Leaving on a trip, the master entrusted his servants with the talents, and upon his return asked: What did you do with what I gave you?

I felt that God was asking me the same. What are you doing with what I gave you? And I was like…um…what did you give me? What talent, gift, skill have you given me? I think I had been so busy looking at everyone else and their talents that I overlooked what God had given me. Writing. It wasn’t like I heard an audible voice or saw a burning bush, the word “writing” just popped into my head. So I sat down to write a book. I had no clue where to start. I knew I wanted to write an allegory. A kind of Pilgrim's Progress meets Lord of the Rings. Yeah. That idea kind of disintegrated, but we won't go there. Ha!

So, I had point A, point G and point Z of my story, but had no clue about the rest, but my husband told me to just sit down and write. And write I did. The basic story in its most roughest of forms poured from my mind and my fingers flew across the keyboard to keep up. Sometimes I'm thankful I was so naïve and hadn't had to deal with the inner editor yet.

In the next couple of years I rewrote and edited that book hundreds of times. Every time I got close to thinking I was done, I learned something new about writing fiction and had to rewrite it all over again. I researched the internet, read books on writing and tried to apply what I had learned. Each time there was always something new. I felt like I was plowing dirt with my head and not getting very far, very fast. But slowly, it started coming together, taking shape. Life was breathed into the characters, and the World of Nälu was becoming more real.

"If you don't find a career using this talent, it would be a sin!"

The journey had its ups and downs, and during the dark moments, I would find something that kept confirming what I was doing. Small things like coming across a box of childhood things, memories I had completely forgotten about. The little construction paper books I wrote and illustrated as an eight year old, sure I'd be an author one day. A short story that won first place in middle school, and a high school English paper the teacher wrote on, "If you don't find a career using this talent, it would be a sin!"

All of it, I had forgotten about, and now here I am, in the middle of living my dream. My first novel will be released this fall, and let me tell you, once the ball starts rolling, it ROLLS! Yikes! But it's all good. I can't wait to share with you all The World of Nälu, and all the adventures to be had there.

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Thank you Jennette. This is an awesome story. I think you have been a good and faithful servant with the talents God has given you. I love the note from your teacher. Thank God for people like this whom I believe He intentionally puts in our path for such a time as this!!  :) I pray God's continued favor upon your publication. It's worth repeating: I love this story and I know other's will too. 

 

Soon, I'll post my review of Secrets Kept. In the mean time, but sure to put it on your TBR list.

Stalker info for Jennette:
Facebook
Pinterest
Twitter
Her Blog Living Life Balanced Between Reality and Dreams

 

Jennette's Bio:

Writing as J. L. Mbewe, Jennette is an author, artist, mother, wife, but not always in that order. Born and raised in Minnesota, she now braves the heat of Texas, but pines for the Northern Lights and the lakes of home every autumn. She loves trying to capture the abstract and make it concrete.
She is currently living her second childhood with a wonderful husband and two precious children who don't seem to mind her eclectic collections of rocks, shells, and books, among other things.
While living life balanced between reality and dreams, she is creating worlds inhabited by all sorts of fantasy creatures and characters, all questing about and discovering true love amid lots of peril.
Her debut novel is coming this fall, and in the meantime be on the look out this summer for short stories set in the World of Nälu.




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...But God, a story from my heart

I was invited to the pulpit this morning to tell my church about the book I wrote, The Wishing Well Curse.  I had told the Pastors it was available on Amazon.com as of yesterday and rather than tell the congregation, he asked me to come up and share. An amazing and exciting announcement, for sure. But when I got the microphone in my hand and started speaking, I realized this was an opportunity to give Testimony to the amazing things God has done in my life to put me where I am today, with a published book.

I am still in awe of the service and the presence that was in our church today. So I feel lead to share my Testimony with you, my Blog friends.

The Wishing Well Curse started out being called A Ghost from a Wishing Well. Because over twenty years ago, the idea come to me to write a story and the plot was inspired by the song, If You Could Read My Mind Love, by Gordon Lightfoot. The idea rolled around in my mind but I never sat down to write. But, then again, I was raising babies, having babies and dealing with a broken life.

A year and a half ago, God orchestrated my life in such a way that I had a lot of time on my hands. The desire woke up to write, and of course, this story ignited once more. So I sat down and wrote it all the way to the end. It was amateurish and really terrible, and I knew it. So I started searching for information. I contacted a writer acquaintance whom I had met through a Tear Drop Trailers Forum. She directed me to ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) from there I found resources to teach me to write. I downloaded Jeff Gerke's Plot Vs Character book. Read it through and was inspired all over again. I googled Jeff Gerke and found a discussion forum he had started, Where The Map Ends, or Anomaly. From that forum, I was invited to join an online critique group, The Sandbox. I submitted my story to the critique group and started critiquing their work as well. (By the way, you learn a lot about writing by critiquing other people's writing and by having your own work critiqued.)

They gently but firmly tore my story apart and helped me write it so that it was better and better. While I was playing in the Sandbox (that's what we call our time together) I met Pauline Creeden who had started a small publishing company. I think she had been building her company for the past three years. (But that's her testimony) She wanted to publish a collection of short stories about a clockwork dragon. She submitted her own short story to demonstrate what she had in mind for the stories and offered to the critique group an opportunity to write anything, set in any time period, fantasy or contemporary, literally: whatever, as long as it was about the clockwork dragon and the idea that it was home to legion, the many demons from Mark 5:9 and somebody encountering them.

I was inspired. Ideas came to me and I asked her if this idea and that idea was what she was interested in. She told me to write it up and submit it. She'd let me know if it worked for her. Well, my mind went wild. I thought of four stories, then five... On day, my son said, "Mom, stop writing Clockwork Dragon stories." We laughed about that. So I submitted the four stories and talked to another writer who submitted a mermaid version of the story. We decided to write one story together about Fairies at a slumber party.

The Clockwork Dragon was published October 2012. WOW! Then I went back to The Wishing Well Curse and, again, read through it and worked on making it better. I figured well, that was cool.  Now to really published a book. I searched Christian publishers and perused their submission requirements. I worked on putting together a Sale Sheet and synopsis, etc. all the things needed to submit a manuscript to an editor.

Then in December, I received a message from Pauline explaining to me her goals for her publishing company and she asked me if I had any finished manuscripts I'd be willing to submit to her.

WHAT?

I couldn't believe it! Publishers DO NOT come to writers and ask for their manuscripts. It just doesn't happen.

...BUT GOD! 

I gulped and told her about The Wishing Well Curse.  She read it and a few weeks later she contacted me to suggest some major changes in the story line and told me if I was willing to work with her, make these changes, she'd be interested in publishing this story.

After I picked myself up off the floor. Cried for several hours and called all my children!!! Well you know what I'm saying. I said yes, and here we are today. The Wishing Well Curse is available at Amazon.com for e-readers and will be available May 1 in paperback.

Now, please don't shake your head and say, "Well! Some people have all the luck!"

I have had my valley of the shadow of death!  It wasn't an easy road to get here. But when I was so broken, I had no where else to turn, I turned to God. I'm reminded of 2 Chronicles 20:3-22. Jehoshaphat feared the armies approaching to destroy Judah and Jerusalem so he cried out to the Lord and the Lord set ambushes against the men...and they were defeated.

I turned to God and turned to God and turned to God. I have counseled with my pastors, prayed, been prayed over, prayed for others, and I have grown in the Lord. I have followed His lead, which was the unction to write and wrote from my heart that He ignited with a story. And He made a way. He connected me with Pauline and I am assuming (but that's her testimony) that He lead her to ask me the questions, "Do you have a finished manuscript you'd be willing to submit."

Fulfilling My Sister's Dream

Those of you who do no know me well, I have a younger sister who is a "Ruebella baby" which means she was born blind and deaf, with other mental limitations and health issues due to our mother having Reubella measles while she was pregnant with her.  She has a dream of becoming a Marine Biologist and running a Shark Center.  She will never accomplish that dream, her special needs prevent that from becoming a reality. However, the beauty of being a writer is that I can write her story as if she had accomplished this dream.  Her name is LeeAnn, but in our fictious story, we call her Faith.  Please enjoy "Blind and Deaf Faith."

Blind and Deaf Faith

Short Story Fiction

By Lynn Donovan

Faith was just like everybody else; she grew up, went to college, established herself in a rewarding career. The only thing she didn’t have—sight and sound.

Gestational Rubella measles left her blind and deaf at birth She knew nothing different. Thirty surgeries, lens implants, and corrective lensed glasses allowed a myopic view of her surroundings. It let her read and maneuver without the gaudy, white cane that screamed, “Blind person walking!”

Hearing was another matter. Hearing aids and even cochlear implants were ruled out early in her life due to her non-existent nerves. But she didn’t care. Life was—as it was. Besides, she could hear through her feet. Approaching footsteps were felt and she would turn toward the person. The mail cart rattled so violently, she knew when to step out of her office and receive her bundle with a nod. Few realized she could not hear. She liked it that way.

As a marine biologist, she communicated with everyone by writing notes or sending e-mails. The notes were simply passed on through intra-office mail or a giant clip on her office door. This aloofness had gained her a reputation as an eccentric bitch, but she’d rather be thought of as a bitch than deaf, handicapped, or worse yet—different.

Besides, she preferred to work alone, except for the sharks. They were her life, her single-minded focus. She loved working with them, studying them, feeding them, and writing about them. Interacting with people was unimportant to her. With her immediate family, mom, dad, and sister, she communicated with her hands. But with the rest of the world, she wrote down her thoughts, commands, and instructions. The internet made that easy. Everyone typed rather than spoke on the internet. She simply refused to participate in any video conferencing where speech was required.

Everything was as she wanted it to be. Her routine was, well—routine, and that suited her fine. She contributed to the knowledge-gathering infrastructure of the marina through her diligence and dedication to sharks. Her life was fulfilling and complete.

Until he walked in.

Dr. Donnie Fitzgerald, PhD., Marine Scientist, and now her supervisor, had been transferred in by a committee she ignored. Her lack of verbal skills had found the one niche she could not fill—public speaking. She could publish anything they needed to disseminate her valuable knowledge about the importance of preserving the sharks and their habitats. She set up social networking sites where she could “chat” with the public. But she could never present any information publically.

Now she had to deal with Dr. Donnie Fitzfumble, Fitzfutile, Fitz-whatever, just stay out of the way. She hated him instantly. In her mind, she signed his name with an F at her right temple. That allowed her to insert an additional vulgar name. Since she was forced to share her office, her marina, and her sharks with him—it was her own delightfully private insult.

“Funding. It all boils down to funding,” signed Hope, her older sister, at Thanksgiving.

“Why can’t we get funding from the blog, Twitter, Facebook, even Pininterest? What about the mail?” Faith demanded. “I set up a webcam. The sharks can be observed twenty-four-seven. Why isn’t that enough?” She folded her arms across her chest.

“Look at me!” Hope gestured with two hooked fingers pointed at her eyes. “Some things require face to face. Sales, fundraising, things same as that, require face to face.”

Faith frowned. She knew Hope was right, but it didn’t make her like it any better.

On the day she and Dr. Fitzgerald were to enter the tanks, she typed up all the shark information, laminated the multi-colored papers and bound them with a plastic ring. She had inserted pictures of the sharks beside the descriptions and, in particular, why they were in captivity. The print was large, so she could see it. To anyone else, it appeared to be benefit readability under water. Since communication underwater was all point and signal anyway, her goal was to point at the picture and then at the actual shark. He could read the rest. Or not.

The scuba gear was arranged on a bench in the non-public access area of the pools. She was mostly geared up when Dr. F arrived. Ignoring him, she hoisted the air tank onto her back. She reached for the regulator, but missed due to the extreme angle it hung from her tank. The hose appeared in her limited peripheral as his fingers guided it toward her face. She grabbed the regulator and jerked away. Sharp, glaring eyes told him she didn’t appreciate his interference. His eyebrows rose but his mouth did not move.

She paused. Glancing back at him, she shrugged. He nodded and returned to squeezing into his wet suit. She’d never considered him before. His muscular limbs and smooth abs might place him around her age, maybe younger. She remembered his face from a photo she had examined. Light sprigs salted his otherwise dark neatly cut hair, but the skin around his aqua-blue eyes was smooth. Premature grey, maybe?

He glanced up at her as he zipped his black and green suit. Her eyes darted to the bench, and she sat down next to the laminated manual. Her heart beat violently in her chest. She consciously inhaled and exhaled to slow down the uncomfortable feelings—all of them. She hoped he would assume she was oxygenating her lungs, preparing for submersion.

Once he bounced up and made a two-finger salute, she stood and handed him the manual. He opened it, scanned the pages, and nodded. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder indicating she was ready to go in. He gave the scuba signal, “okay.” They stepped over to the side of the pool, suspended one finned foot over the water and hopped in. Pain instantly pressed against her skull. She removed her regulator, squeezed the nose of her mask and pushed air out her ears for relief. Dr. F hovered, watching her, then held up the “okay?” sign again. She did the same and took the lead, swimming down into the shark tank.

An eight-foot-long tiger shark swam toward them. Faith reached over to the laminated manual and turned to the orange page. She pointed at the picture and then at the shark as it serpentined past them. Dr. F nodded and scanned the page. He pointed to his side, indicating the shark’s original injury. She nodded and pushed off the bottom of the pool. The shark made a side-ways arch with its spine and doubled back toward them. It slithered through the space they no longer occupied, then doubled back again. She knew its territory had been invaded, and it did not like it.

She swam over to where the nurse shark hung out. She showed Dr. F the appropriate blue page. It had been caught in a fisherman’s net as a newborn. It’d never had a chance to learn to survive in the wild. Now six foot in length, it was a member of Faith’s family. Dr. F held up two index fingers, “small.” Then pointed down, “here.” Faith nodded.

On through the tank they swam locating and identifying each species. A dark mass passed into Faith’s visual range. The Tiger shark was still agitated. It was time they left him alone. She would treat him to fish chunks once they got out. She turned to Dr. F and gestured the scuba sign, “go up.” He signaled, “Okay.” In the lead, she propelled herself toward the exit ladder. A dark hazy contrast against the light-blue wall indicated she wasn’t far from the ladder. Three, maybe four more strokes then she would remove her fins.

Suddenly her chin slammed against her chest and she tasted blood. Her body jerked backward, and the strap to her air tank slipped away from her shoulder. Another jerk pulled the other strap and spun her around. The Tiger shark was attacking her. It held the tank in its razor-sharp teeth and shook it violently, yanking her along with it. She kicked at its underbelly and struggled to remove her arm from the strap. The shark let go of the tank and darted past her. She swirled to keep her eyes on its position. It was between her and the ladder.

Her eyes darted around. Where to escape? Where was Dr. F? The shark arched its spine and glided through the water, straight toward her undulating legs. She drew her legs and arms in close to her body and screamed. Bubbles spilled from her mouth. The shark rammed into her torso. Plastic scraped across her wet suite rather than teeth. She opened her eyes. Dr. F’s multi-colored laminated pages protruded from the shark’s mouth as it shook its head fervently.

A firm grip took hold of her arm. Dr. F kicked long fluid strokes with his fins, pulling her toward the ladder. He shoved her up out of the water and scrambled backward, fins sticking out from the ladder. He fell on his bottom next to her and stuck his feet straight out across the sloshing surface of the pool. Crab-walking away from the sinking dorsal fin, he wiggled to get the air tank off his back. Faith’s eyes darted from him to the water. She could not stop hyper-ventilating. “Uhh, uhh,” the sound escaped her mouth as she tried to regain normal breathing. She swallowed. A metallic, copper taste caused her stomach to lurch. She closed her eyes to fight the nausea.

A hand touched her shoulder. She jerked and kicked away from it. “Uhh!” she screamed. Dr. F grabbed her by both shoulders and held her firmly. She stared into his eyes and shook her head. His eyebrows knitted tightly together, and he slowly nodded as his mouth moved. Something about his face cleared the terror in her mind. She stopped fighting and relaxed. Her head turn to the right. Red covered her shoulder. She jerked away. It wasn’t her, it was him!

Blood flowed from a gash that laid open from his knuckles to beyond his wrist. She grabbed his forearm and squeezed her fingers around the muscle. He looked up into her eyes and smiled, then his eyes rolled up as color drained from his face. He fell limp across her lap. She held tightly to the arm. It was the closest thing to a tourniquet she could devise.

“Ooooo!” she screamed and stamped her foot. “Ooooo! Ooooo!”

She felt the vacuum effect of air moving and knew the heavy doors had been opened. People frantically ran in to them, cell phones to their ears. “Mum, mum, mum.” She screamed the best she could and held up Dr. F’s bloody, torn hand. Someone wrapped something white around Dr. F’s arm and pried her bloody hands off. Adrenaline waned. The room tilted and began to spin. Everything elongated into a darkening tunnel—consciousness waned with it.

# # #

Faith sat next to her family as Dr. Fitzgerald stood at the podium, delivering the speech he and Faith had written. His heavily bandaged hand resting on the podium, it had been six weeks since the accident. Representatives from large corporations sat among local residence as Dr. F spoke. A slide show flashed brightly colored pictures of severely injured sharks; rescuers feverishly scrambling to save them; medical staff, including himself and Faith, administering hypodermic aid to the animals; expansive undersea terrains; healthy, revived sharks traversing the aquarium; and finally young people pressed up against glass walls admiring and learning about the sharks.

The words of his speech scrolled along the bottom of the huge screen. Faith drew her eyebrows together. Subtitles? She scratched out a question on her program and handed it to her sister. Hope glanced down and then back up at her. “Don’t you know?” she signed with small, discreet gestures.

Faith leaned back, “Know what?”

Hope turned her head and glared at her for a moment. “Dr. Fitzgerald is deaf, Faith. The subtitles help the audience understand him. Although, I don’t think they’re necessary.” She leaned away from Faith and shook her head. “You really didn’t know?”

Faith shook her head. She lifted her eyes back to the podium and the man who stood before the people. Suddenly the audience jumped to their feet. Their hands slammed together and vocal vibrations filled the air. Faith stood and clapped too. She smiled at her sister, who stared at Dr. F. Faith touched her sister’s shoulder. Hope turned.

“I saw him first.” Faith signed.

Hope dipped her head and smiled.