Welcome back, Davalynn. Tell us about your salvation experience.
I don’t remember not knowing who Jesus was because my mother incorporated Him into our everyday life. But I came to a point of decision when I was nine years old, a point of choosing Him to be my savior. I was at a Billy Graham crusade in
. The night sky glittered with
stars, and I knew the God who made them was calling me to walk to the front of
the stadium and choose Him. I never looked back. Fresno, California
You’re planning a writing retreat where you can only have four other authors. Who would they be and why?
I would invite C.S. Lewis, Mark Twain, Laura Frantz, and Joanne Bischof. There are many more authors whose work I admire and enjoy, but these four have moved my heart and emotions on a deep level. (Yes, even Mark Twain.) As author Randy Ingermanson says, it’s that Powerful Emotional Experience that readers want. Since I’m also a reader, that’s what I want too.
Do you have a speaking ministry? If so, tell us about that.
I speak for luncheons, dinners, and weekend retreats, as well as teach writing workshops. One of my most popular retreat topics is “Sometimes Life’s a Rodeo.” It’s based on the idea that all of us know what it feels like to find ourselves face down in the dirt wondering what hit us and why we didn’t see it coming. (This topic segues nicely with my other calling: wife and mother of professional rodeo bullfighters.)
What is the most embarrassing thing that has happened to you and how did you handle it?
I have played the guitar and sung for years, sharing music in churches and elsewhere. One Sunday during my senior year in high school, I was invited to sing at the local Methodist church. I didn’t know there were two Methodist churches in town, and I went to the wrong one. Sat right down in the front row. With my guitar. The preacher preached his entire sermon at me. During the closing prayer I slipped out the side entrance and beat it over to the other Methodist church where the pastor was bidding his parishioners farewell. He laughed and invited me to come the following Sunday. I did.
People are always telling me that they’d like to write a book someday. I’m sure they do to you, too. What would you tell someone who came up to you and said that?
Don’t wait for opportunity or for everything to fall into place or for time/money/inspiration enough to write. Just sit down and write. Everyday. If you’re not careful, “someday” will slip by without your notice.
Very good advice. Tell us about the featured book.
Lena Carver works as her physician brother’s medical assistant, housekeeper, and cook despite her disfigurement from a childhood accident. Each year, the Christmas holidays come with contradictions—cherished memories of a mysterious encounter and painful recollections of a great loss. She lives with the belief that she is beyond love’s reach until a dark-eyed cowboy arrives broken, bruised, and bent on changing her mind.
Wil Bergman wakes in a stranger’s home with a busted leg, a bullet-creased scalp, and no horse. Trail-weary, robbed, and penniless, his dreams and plans for a future are suddenly unattainable. Forced to recuperate in the home of a country doctor, he finds himself at the mercy of a surgeon whose sister’s healing touch has power to stitch up his lonely heart and open his eyes to the impossible.
Please give us the first page of the book.
Ahead of her, the pasture gate sagged open. She ran toward it, pushing through snow that inched above her high-topped shoes until one stuck and she fell to her hands and knees. Icy pin pricks stung all the way to her elbows, but she shook her arms and bent her fingers open and closed, open and closed, their pink tips like rosebuds against the white ground. She’d forgotten her mittens and coat.
Never mind it. If she went back now,
would call her a baby. But she was no baby, she was four. She’d show him.
Crack! The chock of an ax chased over the snowy field, all the way from where
Tay split firewood behind
If only she could fly, there’d be no footprints following her. Wouldn’t that be lovely? To fly like a bird, or a real angel with white wings and a shiny robe?
Twisting her fingers into her skirt, she trudged on to the gate, then squeezed through its open mouth at the fence post.
Behind her now, far away, smoke curled from their cabin chimney, thin and silvery like ribbon on a Christmas gift.
Would Christmas ever come? Papa said it would be here soon, but soon took forever.
How can readers find you on the Internet?
Quarterly Author Update and free ebook: http://eepurl.com/xa81D
Amazon Author: https://www.amazon.com/Davalynn-Spencer/e/B002EZUEZK
Thank you, Davalyn, for sharing this Christmas novella with my readers and me. I love reading Christmas stories.
Readers, here’s a link to the book.Snow Angel: a romantic Christmas novella
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