Welcome back, Ruth. What are some of the spiritual themes you like to write about?
Salvation! That always makes for a great theme. I also like to write about a character deepening his or her walk with God. This usually involves facing some internal battle, whether it is forgiveness, bitterness, or some other stronghold or weakness in one’s makeup.
What other books of yours are coming out soon?
I have another historical romance coming out later this spring, tentatively titled Freedom’s Enduring Flame.
If you could spend an evening with one contemporary person (not a family member of yours), who would it be and why?
K.P. Yohannan, the founder of Gospel for
read a couple of his books and admire his steadfast mission to reach the
“unreached” people of Asia, primarily in India.
What historical person would you like to meet (besides Jesus) and why?
Some of the great evangelists of the 19th/early 20th century like Charles Spurgeon, D.L. Moody, and Smith Wigglesworth. I’d love to hear about their conversion experiences and about their walk with God.
How can you encourage authors who have been receiving only rejections from publishers?
Get some tough critiquers—people who read in the genre you write in and are willing to read your manuscript and give you their honest feedback. You may not like it, but if you get enough people with a similar reaction, you’ll have an idea of what might be lacking in your writing.
Tell us about the featured book.
I first had the idea for She Shall Be Praised from a dream some years ago (so I can’t recall the dream). As I mulled over the initial idea, somehow it evolved into a sequel to The Rogue’s Redemption. She Shall Be Praised is the story of one of the heroine’s younger sisters from that book.
Please give us the first page of the book.
Ordinary Katie Leighton stood on the
Quai d’Orsay looking out toward the River Seine.
Halfway across the world from her rugged home in Bangor,
Maine, she could scarcely believe she was in Paris, the most romantic
city on earth.
Arched stone bridges bisected the wide river at even intervals all along its curved length. If she looked eastward to her right, she saw the Pont Royal and just made out the delicate spire of the Sainte Chapelle and, looming behind it, the square towers of the massive Notre Dame cathedral.
These churches—so different from her customary places of worship back home—had withstood the vicissitudes of man and the ravages of nature since the Middle Ages. Most recently, they had barely escaped the fury of the revolutionaries.
If she turned to look across the bridge in front of her, she saw the wide Place Louis XV. It was hard to believe just over twenty years ago, it had run with the blood of the hundreds beheaded upon the guillotine.
A tug on the leash broke Katie’s somber contemplation. Her newly acquired dog broke free of her loose hold and dashed off down the quay, fleeing toward the Esplanade of Les Invalides, his brand new leash trailing after him.
“Come back here, Brioche, you naughty dog!” With an exasperated sigh, Katie lifted her skirts and broke into a run after the scruffy-haired mutt, whose white fur still looked dingy, no matter how many times she bathed him.
Panting more heavily than her dog, she ran under the leafy chestnut trees on either side of one of the avenues of the spacious, grassy esplanade which sloped towards the river, her feet feeling every tiny stone through her thin leather soles. Brioche showed no signs of slowing down, when abruptly, he veered to the left under some trees.
Oh, dear, no! He was heading straight for one of the poor veterans from the old soldiers’ home out to take the sun! Katie’s hand flew to her mouth in horror, and she stepped up her pace despite the stitch in her side. Surely Brioche wouldn’t knock the old man’s wheeled chair over!
But Brioche seemed intent on something else. He stopped right before the soldier and began sniffing the grass at his feet.
Katie arrived at the spot thoroughly winded. She could hardly get the words out, “Oh, par—don—nez-moi, m—mon—sieur. Je suis desolée—” The apology in French was hardly intelligible even to her own ears.
The man was not listening and continued leaning forward in his chair, groping the grass before him.
Katie gasped. The man was blind! Her heart contracted in immediate pity, for he was no old veteran. Under a shock of untidy black hair, a young, unlined face swung toward her—deep-set dark eyes fixed unseeing in her direction, black eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.
He must have been wounded in the recent war. Poor, poor dear!
“Qui est là?” came the sharp, peremptory words.
“Pardonnez, monsieur,” she repeated, fumbling for the proper words in French. “It was only my dog. He got away from me—”
Reminded of Brioche’s presence, the soldier thrust out his hand. “Va-t’en, mauvais chien!”
“He’s not a bad dog,” she hastened to reassure him as she grasped Brioche’s collar and pulled her pet out of the way. The dog, his attention still on the grass, whined.
How can readers find you on the Internet?At my website: http://ruthaxtell.com or through Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ruth.axtell1
Thank you, Ruth, for sharing this new book with us. I can hardly wait for my copy to arrive.
Readers, here is a link to the book. By using one when you order, you help support this blog.
She Shall Be Praised: A Leighton Sisters Novel (The Leighton Sisters Book 2)
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