Sunday, January 03, 2010
Welcome back to the blog, Deb. How did you come up with the idea for this story?
I had heard some stories from World War II, and even Vietnam, where women had been told their husbands were dead, but after they remarried, their husbands were later found alive in prison camps, etc. I thought that was such a heart-wrenching dilemma, but not being a historical writer, I brainstormed a way to bring that same dilemma into a contemporary setting. Beneath a Southern Sky is the result.
If you were planning a party with Christian authors of contemporary fiction, what six people would you invite and why?
Only six!? It would be impossible to keep the guest list that small! But I’ll try. ; ) I’m going to choose writers I know personally, rather than those I merely know from their books:
Colleen Coble, who has the gift of encouragement and enthusiasm in spades!
Lori Copeland, who is the absolute life of any party she’s at!
Robin Lee Hatcher, so I could talk her into writing more of her wonderful contemporary novels!
Roxanne Henke, because she’s a kindred spirit (and one of my favorite conference roommates).
Angela Hunt, because she always has fascinating things to say.
Nancy Moser, a fellow Kansan, amazing writer, and tons of fun.
And of course, I’d invite YOU, Lena Nelson Dooley! :-)
And I'd be thrilled to come. I love all those women, too. Now let’s do that for a party for Christian authors of historical fiction, what six people would you invite and why?
Tamera Alexander, my critique partner and precious friend.
Judith Miller, fellow Kansan and one of the wittiest, most FUN writers I know.
Stephanie Grace Whitson, one of my first and dearest writing friends.
Kim Vogel Sawyer, a talented and sweet fellow Kansan.
Jill Eileen Smith, a new writer of Biblical fiction, and a sweet friend.
Deborah Vogts, another fellow Kansan (Kansas is thick with great writers!) Debbie has a fabulous new series out.
BJ Hoff… I know, I know. That’s seven, but I couldn’t help myself! BJ is an amazing writer, and such an encourager!
Sounds like another wonderful party. Many times, people (and other authors) think you have it made with so many books published. What is your most difficult problem with writing at this time in your career?
Tell us about the featured book?
When Daria husband, missionary physician Nate Camfield, is reported dead, she recklessly pursues a new romance without seeking God's direction for her life. Despite nagging doubts, she marries a second time––only to discover months later that Nate is still alive! Now Daria must make an agonizing choice between two men she loves with all her heart.
Please give us the first page of the book.
Beneath a Southern Sky
The fingers of the jungle breeze swept across the village, playing the palm fronds like so many harps. Under the conductorship of the wind, the symphony of the rain forest rose to a crescendo and finally the clouds moved in, lowering a curtain on the sun.
Daria Camfield looked up from the skirt she was mending and her eyes scanned the village for her husband’s tall frame. Though the rains weren’t usually severe this time of year, she always breathed easier when Nathan was nearby.
As though her thoughts had summoned him, she spotted Nate loping down the pathway, holding a large banana leaf over his head. She knew his makeshift umbrella was not meant to protect him, as much as it was meant to shield the book he was carrying close to his chest.
“Hey,” she hollered in greeting as he jumped the narrow stream that separated their hut from the village proper. The wind had begun to blow the rain underneath the thatched roof of the stoop where she sat, so she wove her needle safely into the thin cotton fabric and rose to go inside.
Ignoring the four primitive stairs that served as a ladder to their stilted hut, Nathan leapt gracefully onto the stoop, flashing Daria a wide smile. “Hey, babe. What are you up to?”
“Oh, I’m trying to fix this stupid skirt I tore yesterday,” she huffed. “What I wouldn’t give for a sewing machine.”
He ignored her comment. Nate had never been sympathetic to her complaints about their lack of modern amenities. She let it go and tilted her head to receive the kiss he offered.
He tossed the soggy banana leaf over the side of the stoop and took his precious book inside the hut. Daria followed him in, leaving the door open behind them.
“I’m hungry,” he said, glancing around the small room as though food might materialize at his declaration.
She threw him a smirk. “What else is new?”
“Hey, I’m a growing boy!” he said with mock indignation.
She reached up and tousled his damp hair affectionately as she would have a little boy’s, but when he reached for her, it was a man who took her in his arms.
Those words bring back memories of the story. I'm going to have to read it again. How can readers find you on the Internet?
My website is http://www.deborahraney.com/
I also have a blog of novelists’ gardens here:
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