Welcome, Davalynn. What are some of the spiritual themes you like to write about?
I like to write about second chances at love and life. God offers us second chances, and I want my stories to encourage readers to believe that it’s never too late to start again. Forgiveness is another theme that pops up in my novels. It’s a close cousin of second chances.
What other books of yours are coming out soon?
A Christmas novella is slated for release November 15, Snow Angel.
If you could spend an evening with one contemporary person (not a family member of yours), who would it be and why?
I wouldn’t mind spending a quiet evening with Kevin Costner. We went to different high schools together. (See what I did there?) He lived not far from where I grew up in California, and I’d be interested in hearing about his journey from the San Joaquin Valley to the movie industry. I’m also curious about which of his movies are his favorites and why. Which stories touched him, and what it was about those stories that drew him in.
What historical person would you like to meet (besides Jesus) and why?
I am intrigued by Will Rogers. He was a multi-talented fellow, and I’d love to hang out with him, laugh at his witty humor, hear what he thinks of today’s politicians, and watch him spin a rope. Mark Twain is in the running too.
How can you encourage authors who have been receiving only rejections from publishers?
Our dreams are worth pursuing, regardless of what other people say. My advice is succinct: Never quit; keep writing.
Tell us about the featured book.
Laura Bell and Eli Hawthorne grew up together in the California foothills. Life took them down separate paths filled with trauma and tragedy similar to that endured by the “miracle tree” where they meet again after twelve years. For Laura and Eli, it’s all about second chances in the face of their formidable opponents, fear and distrust. The Miracle Tree is a book of my heart, and at the end of the story readers find out why.
Please give us the first page of the book.
Laura Bell took a fast left onto faded asphalt. The county road stretched long and lean into the foothills, threading a tight S-curve at the top of a small rise. Her steel-blue Z4 convertible hugged the road the same way her black pencil skirt hugged her.
Across from a tight row of mailboxes, she hooked a sharp right onto a private lane, slid to a stop, and waited for the dust to settle. That’s when she saw him—reined in near a scrub oak about twenty feet from the boxes.
Wonderful. A Monday morning audience.
Defensive about her stirring arrival, she set the emergency brake, opened the door, and swiveled her legs around. Planting her stilettos firmly, she stood and tugged her skirt down.
The cowboy’s forearms crossed on his saddle horn, reins hanging loosely from his fingers. With his head tipped slightly forward, a wide-brimmed hat hid his eyes but not the edge of a black eye patch or his scruffy jaw.
His shoulders bounced once as if he’d laughed and held it inside.
She pushed her sunglasses tight against her face and raised her chin. He may not know it yet, but he did not want to laugh at her.
She spiked her way through the weeds toward a realtor’s “For Sale” sign, ignoring him. With one perfectly manicured hand around each side, she yanked.
It wouldn’t give.
She pushed against it with her hip and tried again. Didn’t move.
Frustrated, and feeling as graceful as an elephant on ice, she bent the sign back and forth to loosen the stakes and pulled. Nada.
A leathery squeak, and she glanced at the cowboy stepping from his saddle. Long strides brought him to the sign, and with a hand firmly gripped around each stake, he tugged.
She folded her arms across her pink silk blouse and angled one pointy-toed heel in front of the other, privately pleased that the Lone Ranger couldn’t get the sign out either.
He continued to pull. No lunging or pushing, just a steady upward tug that flexed the muscles in his tanned forearms. She could imagine what his biceps looked like under that rolled-up-sleeve work shirt.
The sign surrendered with a dry wheeze as he pulled it free of the earth. He handed it to her with a sober blue-eyed look. The black patch glared.
Annoyed at her ineptitude, she took the sign and looked away. “Thank you.”
In her hurry to leave, she spun on one foot, snapped a heel, and nearly fell.
He caught her by the arm.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
At the humorous note in his voice, her grip on the sign tightened.
She limped to her car, leaned over the driver’s door, and hit the trunk release. The sign fit in the back, and she took off her ruined shoes and tossed them in with it.
Roadside grit gathered between her toes as she walked on the balls of her feet to the door.
The cowboy stood next to his horse, thumbs hooked in his jeans. Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
Well, you grabbed my attention. How can readers find you on the Internet?
Newsletter sign-up (free novella e-book): http://eepurl.com/xa81D
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Davalynn-Spencer/e/B002EZUEZK
Thank you, Davalynn, for sharing this ebook with my blog readers and me. I’m eager to to read it, and I’m sure they are, too.
Readers, here’s a link to the book.The Miracle Tree: A Novel - Kindle
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