It's a Squirrely Conspiracy

Squirrels are eating my trashcans. This does not seem like good squirrel nutrition to me. I thought they liked acorns and nuts. But Rubbermaid? I know they are really after the tasty goodness burried inside the can--leftover meatloaf, corn, and the occassional moldy bread. But if this were really the case and they were only burrowing THROUGH the lid to get to the garbage then wouldn't I see bits of trashcan all over? I don't. So I can only conclude that the rodents are consuming the plastic. Which by the way, brings up another question, why do they call it Rubbermaid when it is clearly NOT rubber? And what's with the spelling of MAID. I find it an insult. But I digress. Back to the squirrels. I like them, I really do enjoy watching their funny squirrely antics and behavior. I even feed them. I toss old apples and half-eaten corn cobs, bad plums out there. You'd think they would be happy with that and leave my trashcans alone. I believe it is a conspiracy between the squirrels and Rubbermaid. Backyard critter consumption of trash cans is, after all, the number one reason to replace your cans. Think about it. How often would you purchase new trashcans if not for the holes being chewed into them. Uhm, not too often. It gets embarrassing after a while to see your cans lined up on trashday at the curb with holey lids and occassionally leaking, chewed-through bottoms. So, you are forced to buy new knowing that in a just a few short weeks the squirrels will have chewed them to bits. Why, why do we do this? Why don't we fight back? Metal cans, you say. No, I have made a study of this and for some reason the metal cans attract larger rodents--raccoons and Possums--yes we have possums in PA. They not only lift the lids, crawl inside but make a mess. It's a no win situation. We are nothing more than a grocery store to the backyard critters. If you throw it out, they will come. Not matter what receptacle you use. It's part of the cycle of life, I suppose. The farmer grows the food, the store sells it to us, we cook it and eat half of it, toss the other half into a bag, toss bag into can, squirrels smell it, they eat through the lid, feast on leftovers, we buy new cans and it starts all over again.
You can't win. I've accpeted this.

What The . . .?

Let's just file this under What the Heck?

Fab Review from Library Journal

Wow! This is such fun. Thank you Library Journal

This unusual first novel introduces two quirky sisters who live in their family's funeral home in the town of Bright's Pond, PA. Griselda Sparrow is protective of the overweight (as in 600 pounds) and often-taunted Agnes. One day, however, Agnes decides to confine herself to their home and devote herself to praying for the townspeople. When her prayers start to produce miracles, the town takes notice—a development that only complicates the sisters' lives. VERDICT This delightfully eccentric tale, with its colorful characters who pull at the heartstrings, will stay with readers long after they finish it.

Release the Hounds

Forget Waldo. Find Agnes! All you have to do is find Agnes Sparrow on a table in Barnes and Noble, snap a shot of you and her and send it to me. I will choose one grand prize winner to recieve a copy of the book and a map and "several" (i'll decide how many later) people to win maps of Bright's Pond.
Go forth and seek out Agnes. I know she's somewhere. Find her. Please. Someone find Agnes. Release the hounds!

Special thanks to Rita Gerlach. Oh, find her book and buy it. Suurender the Wind. Yay, Rita!!!!

These Rock!

I'm just saying. Very Tasty.

What does Captain Noah Have To Do With It?

The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow takes center stage tomorrow. Well at least it's supposed too. I love Barnes and Noble--great bookstore. And, according to my publisher, starting tomorrow and running through Labor Day, Agnes is going to be displayed on their center tables. Woo Hoo. That means when you walk into one of their stores you should see Agnes pretty much right away. I sure hope they don't forget. It sure would be nice to see.

The bad news is that there is only one B&N near my home. And it is not only extremely small, but of all the stores I've checked electronically, this is the only one not carrying Agnes. Uhm. Weird. The nearest store to me is 25 miles away. And yes, I will make the journey out there to check on things. But that's where all of you come in. If over the next week you visit a B&N Store would you please look for The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow and if you see her on the table and you just so happen to have a camera with you would you snap a shot of it and you at the table, looking proud, saying, "I know this author," and then send it to me. I'd like to post them on my website.

And not only will I hang you pictures proudly but I will pick one random picture taker to receive a signed copy of The Bright's Pond Map. Good deal.

So get out your cameras and go on the hunt.
I feel a little like Captain Noah. Any of you remember him? He hosted a cartoon show. We used to send our pictures to him and Mrs. Noah and he'd show them on the TV--pretty exciting stuff. Then he would sing:

Send your pictures to dear old Captain Noah
Send today, Send right away.
Send your pictures to dear old Captain Noah
We'll hang them high in the TV sky.
Send your pictures to Dear old Captain Noah

Anyway, if there are any Agnes sightings, let me know. Gee, hope she doesn't crush the tables.

Welcome to Bright's Pond

You can win a copy of this beautiful Bright's Pond map. Stay tuned for details.
Click for a bigger image. It's so nice. My dear friend Meg drew it.

Some Autumnal Thoughts

The doggiest of the dog days of summer have hit the Philadelphia area. It's only 6:30 in the morning and already the temperature is eighty. I'm not a fan of extreme heat but there is something special about these days as summer winds down and most folks are looking forward to the autumn and back to school. From where I sit in my little writing corner I can hear the cicada symphony outside. The music rises and reaches a crescendo and then climbs back down just to wind back up again. Seems rather monotonous to me and I have to wonder if the cicadas get sick of the their own sound. Still it is the most summery of sounds. The air conditioning is going full blast most of the time except an hour or so in the earliest part of the morning. But we get used to moving from horrible heat to cold.

Speaking of back to school I am getting ready to take Emily back to college next week. She's starting her second year at West Chester University. Adam is going into fifth and I think he's ready for a change in routine. A boy can only catch so many minnows, play so many video games, swim and ride his bike and throw things and beat up his buddies for so long--well maybe he could do those things forever but I am glad school is starting. I think he needs the routine. Oh, did you feel that? A small breeze jsut came through the window carrying the aroma of bacon.

I love Back to School shopping. New pens and pencils, notebooks and fresh pink erasers with no smudge marks, socks and underwear, dividers and little boxes and backpacks, protractors and rulers, antibacterial wipes and baggies. There is nothing like the smell of fresh school supplies.

I was in the store yesterday and already they have Fall stuff out, pumpkin spice and Halloween decor, Spiced Cookies and apples galore. I like it. I like the smells and the look of autumn, the crinkle of leaves beneath my feat, the changing colors of the trees, the cool air and golden sunshine, sitting outside with hot coffee and a sticky bun. Yep autumn is best for many reasons. For me, September 1 is the start of the new year. Let's make it a good one.

Cheer Joyce Up Today!

Bizarre contest alert! I need to be cheered today. So for the rest of the day I am accepting cheerful tid-bits and niceties from my friends and fans. After I have had enough sweetness tossed at me I will choose a winner to receive one free copy of The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow and a signed copy of a map of Bright's Pond. But you have to be creative. This map is way too cool. It will show you where all the crazy characters live and where the town hall sits and of course The Sparrow Funeral Home and Personal's Pub. So get out your poetry books, or put on your cheerful therapist hat and send me some words of encouragement. The quirkier the better.

To Be Public Like a Frog

I believe a writer's life is filled with love/hate relationships. I know this because I am deeply concerned about something that has been staring me in the face for several days. My publicist sent me a box of books that I am supposed to sign and send back. Why am I putting this off? I don't know. I love that I am a published author and people want me to sign their books but going public is hard for me. Please don't misunderstand, I am thoroughly in love with being a writer.

Oh, shove a microphone under my nose and I can do ten minutes of stand up on my life and times which isn't always pretty/but generally good for a laugh. But that's more spontaneous or something. Shove a box of books under my nose and I freeze up and cringe. This is like premeditated show-offiness. My mother always told me not too think too highly of myself. Maybe I've taken that adage a trifle too far. I thought it might be because my handwriting is terrible and I don't want to embarrass myself. I mean I did break both of my arms the same month all of the other kids were learning how to hold a pencil and form some rudimentary letters. I really was absent that day. Then I thought my procrastination has more to do with not knowing what pithy or charming words to write.

I even asked my pubs opinion. Sheesh. I am not being waterboarded here, folks. This should be making me happy. I'm certain my colleagues have all signed their books and sent them on their merry way back to Abingdon by now. Well, today is the day. I am determined to sit down and sign twenty books—all in a row, one at a time and write the best thing I can. I even purchased some new pens. Okay, it's was just an excuse to purchase new pens. I love new pens. Well stationery stores are Mecca to me.

These books are to be used in give away and contest promotions during my upcoming blog tour and stuff. So, if you win a book and open to the signature. Relish it a little. Remember what care and love and thought went into it. I love my readers. I just want it all to be perfect—even my signature.

That's Gonna Hurt

Coming up with a fresh blog post everyday is a challenge. But occasionally an idea presents itself--like last night. I punched myself in the face while sleeping. The wallop woke me and I discovered that I somehow cut the skin under my nose as well. What can I say? Weird things happen to me. But this got me thinking about other self-inflicted wounds. So let's have some fun and talk about all the myriad methods we've used to maim, scar, break, bruise, or otherwise injure our own bodies. I'll start.

The most famous of my many self-inflicted injuries occurred three years ago. I ran myself over with my own car. I stopped at the drive-through grocery store to buy a case of water. I decided to help by opening the sliding door. So I dropped the gearshift into park, well, I thought it was park. Actually it was neutral. I opened the door, stepped out and the car began to roll away from me. I stood there for a second and then got the bright idea to chase after my 2500 pound minivan and keep it from slamming into traffic. I grabbed onto the door and got pulled underneath. I managed to at least steer it away from traffic and the car finally stopped on the store's roadside sign but not before dragging me twenty feet or so. The manager came rushing to my rescue. He offered me a pint of Ben and Jerry's. I thought that was so sweet. Anyhoo, my injuries consisted of the world's largest bruise. I was black and blue from my ankle clear up my leg and onto my back. And I'm quite tall--long legs. Now it was after-all my son's birthday and I was also planning my daughter's wedding, so i didn't have time to go to the hospital. Three days later when the pain was unbearable I went to the ER. The doctor looked at me kind of funny and said, "You were run over by a two-ton vehicle and you are just now coming to the hospital?" Well yeah, I have priorities.

Over the years I have broken the same small toe three times by ramming into a stationary object with such force that I well, broke my toe.

Once, an Exacto knife got out of hand so to speak, flew three feet in the air, spun in all directions and finally came to a sudden and screeching halt embedded in the knuckle of my middle finger on my right hand. This necessitated a visit to the ER, an x-ray, minor surgery and two stitches.

I broke BOTH my arms at the same time. Technically this might not have been self-inflicted but I did ask my sister to push me as hard as she could while I was hanging from a bar suspended over very hard dirt. Both arms in casts.

I suffered 2nd and 3rd degree burns on my left arm from spilling scalding coffee. And speaking of burns I have wounded the same place on my arm several times over the years by reaching into a hot oven.

Busted my thumb five seconds after being told, "Watch it, that window is not safe."

Gave myself a black eye when I pulled a book off a shelf.

Tripped down the steps for no apparent reason and bruised my butt so badly I didn’t want to sit down for a week.

Many years ago I broke a finger when I fell off the running board of a 1939 Ford. Don't ask why I was on the running board of a 1939 Ford going, well, I don’t know how fast, but fast enough to fling me to the ground as it rounded the corner.

My father had to use a pipe cutter to remove my finger from my bicycle handlebars. I just stuck my finger in there and it didn't come out as easily as it went in. Received a nasty cut from the rusted insides of said handlebars. I received a tetanus shot and ended up with an allergic reaction (horses) and spent the next couple of days with a swollen face.

Had to undergo a minor procedure when a piece of paper became lodged in my Eustachian tube while swimming (we think) and consequently caused a severe infection. I just remember brain numbing pain and the doctor doing something and the wadded up chunk of grossness shooting out my nose into one of those pink, kidney-shaped puke bowls.

So there you have it. Self-inflicted injuries. What's your story?

Random Stuff for Friday

Did you ever wonder why people never take the first slice of bread out of the loaf? Is the fourth or fifth slice really that much fresher?

What is up with the employee of the month parking spot? Is it really that big a perk? I mean just how far away are the other employee parking spaces that this is a big deal? "I love my job. I'm making eight stinking bucks an hour stocking shelves but hey, I get to park fifty yards away from the front door if I do my job really well." Sheesh.

Overheard at the Manoa Deli. "Well, at our age it is a must to join a senior citizens group. A must. We have to join a group." I found it amusing. Something to look forward too.

Did you ever notice how quickly we switch from being a driver to a pedestrian? It cracks me up. One minute we're behind the wheel, impatiently waiting for a young mother with seventeen children in various stages of a tantrum to make her way across the parking lot and then three minutes later we are the pedestrian hollering at a driver for nearly knocking us down. Something is wrong with this.

Why do people talk about getting ON an airplane? I don’t know about you but I am getting IN the airplane. Sitting on the wing seems dangerous to me.

Do Native American Rain Dancers ever practice?

Why do they call it a microphone? If it's suppsoed to make your voice bigger shouldn't it be called a macrophone?

I worry about phone numbers that spell things like call ! 800 Get Rich or 1 800 GLASSES. I worry for illiterate people. How will they ever get rich or find glasses. This is not fair.

Speaking of parking spaces have you noticed these special spaces for expectant and new mothers? Listen, these young mothers NEED to drag their kids or their pregnant girth across seven acres of parking lot in pouring rain. It's good for them. Sheesh. What we need are parking spaces for middle-aged women going through perimenopause. That way we won't have as much trouble remembering where we parked our cars.

Have a good weekend

The Most Awesome Clinic

Last week I had the pleasure of teaching at the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Conference. I taught the Not-Yet-Published-Novelists Clinic or as I called it the NYPN Blues. I was impressed by the desire, talent and burden these women (yes all women this year) carry into their writing. Not only did I see a desire to write a good story but also to find ways to make their stories relevant, thoughtful and make an impact on someone's life.

We talked about everything from Show Don't Tell, the cardinal virtue of good writing, to POV and Dialect. We laughed, we talked, we learned together. So, I just want to say thank you to all the women in my class this year. Thank you for trusting me with your words, for allowing me to spend time with you, to laugh and learn. I too gain insight and truth while teaching.

You guys are the best. It was a pleasure. Keep writing, keep reading and remember God does bless perseverance.

Bringing Clarity to Writing Tips

This might be a tad more information than you care to know about me but I take blood pressure medication to well, duh, control my blood pressure. No big deal, once a day and I'm fine. Well the other day I actually read the prescription bottle. It reads: Take one pill by mouth per day. Um. I had to wonder. Am I that stupid? How else would I take this pill? In my ear? As an, excuse me, but suppository? (pun intended) I mean really, shove one pill per day up your nose? Well that got me thinking about other apparently obvious stuff that might need some clarification, particularly for writers.

Write Tight does not mean to get drunk and then write.

Kill your darlings does not mean to well, murder your loved ones.

First time authors need to finish a novel before submitting means to FINISH THE NOVEL BEFORE SUBMITTING! (Sorry for yelling but . . .)

Raising the stakes has nothing to do with cattle ranching.

A character arc is not a big boat filled with lots of imaginary people.

A plot is not where you bury your aforementioned darlings.

The words Fiction Novel in that order, in one sentence, should never come out of your mouth.

RUE does not only refer to my good pal and awesome writer Nancy Rue. It also means Resist the Urge to Explain. I need to resist the urge to explain this. Don’t do it. Let the story explain for you.

SDT is not a sexually transmitted disease with dyslexia. It means Show the actions don't tell me. In other words don't be boring. DBB.

That's just a few I've come up with. Perhaps you guys have more tips for writers.
Oh, BTW, that's my mother up there. Blogger wouldn’t cooperate yesterday so I decided to run it today. She's a hoot.

Agnes Sparrow is Missing

So here's the thing. Yesterday was my Pop's birthday. He's been trout fishing in heaven for six years now and I miss him terribly some days. I brought my Mother, Flossie, a copy of Agnes yesterday because, I don't know, I finally had the nerve to show it to her and I thought it would be sweet to give it to her on my Pop's b'day. My mother has been wheelchair-bound and living in a smelly nursing home for nearly nine years now. She's 86. Anyhoo, she was thrilled and proud and even shed a tear as I read the part where I mention her in the acknowledgments. She smiled and in a way only Flossie can said, "Better than a poke in the eye."

I set the book on her dresser. "That's nice, Joycie," she said. "I can see it from here." I do believe she was truly proud of me. Flossie will never read Agnes, she can't read too much anymore but that's okay. It was nice to see her hold it, almost like presenting her with another grandchild. Okay, too melodramatic. Anyway, I kissed her cheek. Assured her I would visit again and went home. Three hours later my mother called to tell me Agnes is missing. "I went down to play bingo and when I came back they stole it. I can't find it anywhere. They steal everything around here."

Should I be upset? Or look on the bright side and hope whoever "borrowed" Agnes is reading it and enjoying it and will tell someone else who in turn will tell someone else. Should I believe that this petty thievery could result in Agnes going viral through the nursing home population and beyond? I don't know what to think.

I will bring her another copy and this time I am going to chain it to her dresser, you know, with one of those book leashes they use in libraries on the magazines (if I can find one). My first novel pilfered from an old woman's nursing home room. What does it mean?

Phantstic Phun at Philly

Last week I had the pleasure of attending The Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Conference. My first since Agnes Sparrow was published. I taught a three-day intensive clinic for Not Yet Published Novelists or as I was calling it the NYPN Blues. We had a blast. But no writer's conference would be complete unless there were a few bumps along the road. Just as I arrived at the PBU Campus I realized I left my pillow, my quilt and my toothbrush at home. That's okay. I expected PBU to supply a pillow and a blanky. What I didn't expect was that the pillow would be PLASTIC! Honestly it was like one of the blow-up things they use to pack fine china. It was horrible. I tried to sleep on it that first night but every time I moved, it crinkled and woke me up! I mean we do sleep with our ear on the pillow! It did occur to me to stuff the pillowcase with towels but you see, we only got one towel. ONE towel. So I was on no sleep that first day feeling like every word I spoke came from some deep dark tunnel. But every so often God provides in very special ways and I was at lunch lamenting the fact that I missed my pillow when my dear friend Dale turns and says, "Pillow? You need a pillow. I have pillows in the trunk of my car." No kidding, Dale drove me down to the store to purchase a toothbrush and then opened his trunk, took out a fluffy, soft, non plastic quiet pillow and gave it to me. I slept much better that night, my teeth much cleaner and my breath much mintyer.

Writers conferences are the happiest places on earth. Settle down Disney World. You're fun, but hanging with a bunch of writers and editors and agents is better than Space Mountain. I reunited with my dear friend Kathy Mackel, met Sue Brower from Zondervan. We had good talks about publishing and marketing and stuff. I got to know David Pierce, and Sandra Bishop and many other folks who helped make the three-day event special.

This conference was one of the best. And I made some new friends and fans. Thank you everyone who purchased Agnes and gave me the privilege to sign your copies. You are all the best.

It feels great to be on the other side of the Publishing mountain. The view is fantastic.

Now I'm only surmising but I think I discovered the world's largest Honey Bunch in my Honey Bunches of Oats Cereal this morning. It's the size of a quarter!!!

Q: When is Writing Like a Kangaroo?

A: When you can't figure out what it is.

For any of you who happen to like kangaroos I deeply apologize. I am not a fan. I mean look at that thing up there. If you click it will get even bigger and scarier. This is not the Disney version of Kanga and Little Roo. It has man arms with huge biceps that make him look like he could take out Godzilla with one punch. His head is shaped more like a horse but with a dog nose. Huge eyes with lashes many women would kill to have. And those are definitely donkey ears, and it hops like a giant rabbit, but only on its hind legs. Face it, the kangaroo is not one animal. It is a hideous amalgam of several creatures trying desperately to be one, to find unity and wholeness. And IMHO, it has failed miserably and has become little more than an angry, arrogant looking, jumbled up, disorganized, scary creature that romps the Australia Outback at will. Thank goodness we don't have them here in the U.S. Well, except in zoos and even behind bars they scare me. Imagine a kangaroo or three hopping down the boulevard on a Sunday afternoon. You'd run for the hills. "The roos are coming, The roos are coming!" The kangaroo is an animal in search of an identity. But it never will find it. Poor thing cannot change his DNA.

But this is not the case for writers with a kangaroo of a story. First drafts, or what I call exploratory writing, is like a kangaroo. It has all the parts -- head, arms, legs, biceps, nose, ears but for some reason when you put it all together it comes out ugly. Fortunately, unlike the sad kangaroo, a writer can change her novel's DNA and create a story that doesn't repulse the reader. It's called revision. This is when the real writing begins.

For openers, a writer needs to read her first draft for clarity. Is it making sense? Unlike our poor kangaroo up there. He is a jumble of parts. Novels cannot jumble. So when you're reading your exploratory draft, look for clarity. I am not necessarily saying to look for clarity in meaning. That's a little different. I am referring to very basic stuff. When I read a ms. for teaching or critique purposes I see many first chapters that force me to ask questions like, "Who is talking?" "But wasn't he just in the space shuttle and now he's standing in front of the fridge opening a beer?" "How old is she?" "When did she discover gold in her back yard?" Etc.etc.

The thing about early drafts is that they are crystal clear to the author. You know what you're saying and what you're characters are doing but your reader doesn't. When you start your first serious read-through. Read for clarity. This is not a license to toss in profuse dialog tags and description. Watch your context, be aware of what just happened in the manuscript not in your mind. Don't write a kangaroo.

Clarity-Good. Kangaroo-Not so much.

Is it Agnes? You Decide

Welcome to JOYCE TO THE WORLD where I bring you guests from all over the countryside with something interesting, quirky, or even amazing to talk about. Today's episode is no exception. It's not just another fish story!

Miracles happen, we all know that. But what really is a miracle? Some people say everyday the sun comes up is a miracle, others say every new baby is a miracle, um I don't know. To me these are things that happen all the time, it's science, or nature or because it's how God planned it. But are they really miracles? I mean what exactly is a miracle? That might be a topic for further blogging but yesterday I received an email from a fan of The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow claiming that he got his miracle. Is it because of Agnes? You decide. I'm running his message for all to see and marvel and well, be amazed. Be very amazed.

So today I welcome Dale to share his tale. Thank you Dale for allowing me to tell the world about your miracle.

I got my miracle just reading Agnes. This weekend was Shaun and my Father/Son weekend. So Saturday AM, while he was still sleeping (after a rowdy Scrabble marathon that ended at 3:00 AM), I began reading Agnes. Just reading mind you, not praying to her or anything. So he got up and after breakfast we went fishing. Now you need some history here.
When I go fishing with either of the kids it means I stand there with my line dangling as limp and useless as an overcooked spaghetti noodle, while they catch fish. At one time I held the MT. Creek record for 7 consecutive years without catching a single fish--not one. And yes that's years! In my entire life I've only caught four or five fish-- in
my entire life. But Saturday afternoon, after just reading Agnes, I got my miracle. Twenty fish in a single afternoon. that's right 20! I thought at first it was my lucky hat, or the right combination of hat and t-shirt, then I remembered reading Agnes, and I knew where my miracle came from. It was from Agnes. Joyce, you need to get an Agnes blog or website or something going where readers can send in and proclaim their Agnes miracle. I've already ordered the t-shirts and am talking to the
campground about erecting a sign.

So you tell me? A miracle. Does reading The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow open you up to possibilities, to things happening? Maybe. Any good book will, as Emily Dickinson puts it, "Dwell in possibility."

If you are reading The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow, be aware. Prayer is powerful. Let me know about your miracle (or semi, quasi miracle) and I'll post it here. If Dale can catch a fish, or twenty, anyone can. Perhaps Jesus whispered in his ear, "cast your line on this side."

Keep reading. Keep praying and have a piece of pie.

Another great review!

THE PRAYERS OF AGNES SPARROW
By Joyce Magnin
ISBN 978-1-4267-0164-1
Abingdon Press
Reviewer Cynthia Hickey

Griselda Sparrow has taken care of her sister Agnes for as long as she can remember. She’s used to the line of people seeking prayers from Agnes and she’s used to the stares her sister receives. Because of the miracles happening due to the prayers of Agnes, the town’s people want to erect a sign that welcomes visitors to their town. Then, the unthinkable happens and the town’s inhabitants are turned upside down, their faith tilted. Could it be they had their faith in the wrong place to begin with?

Narrated by Griselda, it’s quickly noticeable that the town of Bright’s Pond is the main character in the book, spinning tales around the Sparrow sisters. THE PRAYERS OF AGNES SPARROW is full of characters the reader won’t quickly forget. Small town and quirky, you can’t help but love every one.

Even the crotchety old man who says Agnes is an abomination of God. With subtle references, the reader is guided to God’s truth; not man’s. A ten on the faith scale, this is a novel that will leave the reader looking for more stories by Joyce Magnin.

**********
Thank you Cynthia. And yes, there is another story on it's way next Fall.