Last week, our publisher emailed us to let us know we finaled...in a contest Tracy and I hadn't even known we entered! Written World Communications submitted Bliss to the 2011 Next Generation Indie Book Awards. Bliss was a finalist in the humor category (see below), and the awards will be presented in New York! Another book from WWC placed first in the religious category. Congrats to Caron, and to WWC! Click here for a full list of finalists.   

HUMOR/COMEDY

WINNER ($100 PRIZE):

• Buffalo Unbound, by Laura Pedersen (Fulcrum Publishing) (ISBN 978-1555917357)

FINALISTS:

• Bliss, by Tracy Bowen & Jenness Walker (Written World Communications) (ISBN 978-0982937709)
• Cascade Chaos: Or How Not to Put Your Grizzly in the Statehouse, by William Slusher (Country Messenger Press Publishing Group, LLC) (ISBN 978-0961940751)
• Journey to Virginland: Epistle 1, by Armen Melikian (Two Harbors Press) (ISBN 978-1935097518)
• Laughter: The Drug of Choice, by Nicholas Hoesl (LaughterDoc Publications) (ISBN 978-0615437354)
• Once More Into The Breach: A Personal Account: Reliving the History of the Civil War, by Mark Brian Swart (Outskirts Press) (ISBN 978-1432763862)

What can I say? There is a small part of me that loved the romance of it all. I loved the dress. I loved the pomp surrounding the ceremony that was so rich with tradition. I loved listening to the prayers and the vows because, let’s all be honest, everything sounds better in a British accent. I loved listening to the pure, authentic voices in the choir. I loved laughing at some of those silly hats.

It’s a love story. And, at the end of the day, the woman in me responds to that.

While I found the whole thing fascinating, there are times when I cringe at the thought of the royal wedding, because I know all of the gals are getting caught up in the idea of their own “prince” swooping in to rescue them from the pain and problems of their past and whisking them away to their very own well-planned out version of happily ever after. Having been married for almost eighteen years, let me just go on record as saying this scenario is not anywhere close to reality. Before you fall out of your computer chair and then climb back in it to send Matt mass emails full of sympathy because he has the sad misfortune to have me as his wife…let me explain.

I came into this whole marriage experience with a lot of expectations. Marriage was going to be the great band-aid that made me all better. I wanted happiness. I wanted him to fix me…and yet at the same time I held myself back from him because my entire past experience had led me to believe that men will always hurt you. Talk about a lose-lose situation. Poor Matt. He never stood a chance with me.

Matt is just about as close as a man can get to being the perfect husband. He gets me. He is not bothered by the fact that I am not into cuddling and sharing feelings--I need space--yet he knows I am romantic enough to appreciate flowers and love notes from him. He has incredible talent in the kitchen, and has made me some mouth-watering meals. His work ethic is off of the charts. He is very skilled, and is good at literally every single thing that he attempts. I have yet to see him take on a job that he does not complete well.

He surprises me with things that really matter to me…like a freshly painted office. He supports me in every single thing that I do. He is an awesome, hands-on dad. He always makes an effort to let me know how beautiful he thinks I am, and there is not a doubt in my mind that, four kids later, he still finds me attractive. And--this one is very important--he makes me laugh.


It’s a love story.

~ Tracy

I love this time of year. The weather is amazing, and the flowers appear to be more vibrant. Easter, and everything that it represents, is one of my favorite holidays. It just seems as if you can feel hope lingering in the air offering new beginnings.

As of two years ago I have added a new reason to find spring so special. On April 16, 2009, our family experienced a miracle.

That evening we decided to take our kids to a park close by our home. Our eleven-year-old, Caleb, decided he wanted to ride his bike. We were going to be right behind him in our van with so we agreed to let him.

To get to our destination we had to cross a two lane road. Caleb was in front of us so he got there first. I saw a car coming, and assumed that Caleb saw it as well. (If I had a dollar for every time I have told my children to look both ways I would be writing this little story from my vacation home in Europe.)

And then I saw his foot move on the bike pedal.

What happened next is without a doubt the most bizarre moment of my life. I knew exactly what was going to happen, and I also knew that I could do absolutely nothing to stop it. My husband realized as well, and immediately began screaming, “No, no, no,” over and over and over again. It was a blood-curdling sound like nothing I have ever heard from him before or since.

Before our very eyes, the car struck Caleb full on.

His body flew up over the hood of the car and disappeared. The vehicle came to an almost immediate stop. I frantically scanned for Caleb, but could see nothing. My husband was the first to jump out of our van and he began running towards the accident, still screaming that one word desperately. I sat stunned. My brain simply could not process what had just happened.

I finally gathered my wits and yelled at our other children to not move a muscle, then I took off running as well. I was not hysterical. It felt like I was having an out of body experience…as if I was looking down at this horrible event as it happened to someone else. I rounded the back of the car that had hit him, and saw that Caleb was in the grass on the opposite side of the road. He was trying to push himself up on one elbow.

My first thought was, “He’s moving! He’s alive!”

My second thought was, “He should not be moving! We don’t know what is going on inside of his body!”

I screamed at him, “Don’t move! Please, don’t move!”

Though I have no memory of grabbing it, I looked down and saw that my cell phone was in my hands. Immediately, I called 911. It rang, and rang, and rang some more. I was frantically talking into the mouthpiece, “Pick up! Pick up!”

Finally, a lady answered. When I told her what had happened she asked for our location. I relayed what road we were on and a few landmark buildings, but she kept saying she needed an actual physical address. To this day I have no clue what she wanted me to say. There is no physical address for car/bike accidents that occur in the middle of the road. I don’t think the third pothole on the right side of the road qualifies.

Bystanders were already gathering, and since it was our neighborhood we knew most of them. One man sensed my frustration at the emergency operator and took the phone from my hands.

I then dropped to my knees beside my son. His face looked horrible. One cheek was just raw, oozing flesh and his arm looked bruised and swollen. And that was what I could see. God only knew what was hidden beneath his clothing.

I can tell you that fear is more than an emotion. It envelopes your body and takes over all of your senses. It smells like burnt rubber and freshly plowed dirt. It has the salty taste of tears, and crawls down your spine like clammy sweat. It looks like flashing lights. And it sounds like your child crying over and over again, “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”

Before I knew it we were surrounded by a barrage of rescue workers. The scene was completely chaotic. Looking up from the ground, I saw the man who hit Caleb standing by his car with a look of utter shock on his face. My heart went out to him. He had not been speeding, and there was nothing he could have done to avoid what happened. I remember thinking, “Oh, that poor man. He thinks he may have killed my son.”

I tried to get his attention and told him, “This is not your fault. He pulled out in front of you. There is nothing you could have done.”

The medics were working with Caleb, and very quickly told me that because of contusions to his abdominal area that he would have to be life-flighted to a nearby hospital because of the possibility of internal injuries.

My mind just went numb.

Completely heartbroken, I crouched on the side of the road, my face in the dirt beside Caleb as they strapped him to a gurney. I just kept repeating, “Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.”

It was all that I could think to say. I knew He was our only hope.

Caleb started going into shock as they loaded him in the ambulance that would take him to meet the trauma hawk that had landed in a field nearby. His body was shaking uncontrollably. They would not allow me to get in the chopper with him.

And so there I stood, watching as my son was taken away. There is not a more helpless feeling on planet earth.

Some friends drove me to the hospital. They prayed out loud as we sped down the road, but I still could not formulate a plea of my own. My mind just kept repeating that one word. Jesus. It felt like the longest ride of my life. I had no idea what news might be awaiting me when I arrived.

Our evening of horror turned into a night of miracles when, after cat scans and x-rays, it was discovered that Caleb had no broken bones and no internal injuries. He was one sore, bruised, road rash covered little boy, but he was alive.

We found out later that night the true extent of our miracle when my husband talked to the man who hit Caleb. He told us that every evening he drives a large service truck home from work.

But not that night.

On that night he was driving a little Honda Civic.

This past Easter Sunday morning I listened as “Your Great Name” was sung in church. I love that song. I suppose it is because the accident is so very real in my mind at this time of year that the words took on such special significance.

“Sick are healed, and the dead are raised, at the sound of Your great name.”

As I walked through this memory and recalled how His name was the only thing my traumatized mind could think to say, I felt the full impact of verse fourteen in Hebrews chapter four.

“Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God.”

In the grief-stricken utterance of His name, He heard the cry of my heart.

The suffering and death that He so willingly endured allowed Him to take on the role of the Great High Priest. In the glory of His resurrection He has become the intercessor.

Every single moment in our lives when we feel the impact of the painful, sinful world in which we live, He comes running to our side. He crouches in the dirt and despair that surrounds us as our minds scream in desperation, “I don’t want this! I can’t take this!” His heart breaks when our hearts breaks.

And there as we struggle to survive our darkest moment, He stands before the Father on our behalf. His wounds strongly plead for us.

Every hope that we have is fulfilled in that one precious name.

Jesus.

“Jesus, worthy is the Lamb, that was slain for us, Son of God and man, You are high and lifted up and all the world will praise Your great name.”

~ Tracy

I was raised in an atmosphere that put a lot of emphasis on appearance, but there was all manner of evil hiding beneath the dignified, saintly facade. I learned early on that the ugly stuff is supposed to be hidden, and I became a hard core people pleaser. The result? Someone who internalized a lot of pain and anger. It ate away at me like an insidious cancer, leaving me panicked. So then I ended up doing a lot of things that gave me the illusion of control...like keeping a perfect house. I fell into the clutches of an enslaving lie: If the outside looks good, that makes up for the fact that the core is appallingly rotten. Enter Facade Tracy--the Queen of Cover-Up. And no, I am not referring to make-up.

By the grace of God I met someone who helped bring the pain and anger from my past into His light. For the first time in my life I was real before Him. Not that He hadn't known me before, but I have come to learn that the acknowledgement of who we are is not for His benefit--it's for ours. The discovery of His love for me--just as I was--and of His trustworthy character, changed my life.

This area of authenticity is a place God is continually working on. You would think I would just learn my lesson and be done with it, but apparently I am hard-headed. Who knew? Being honest about my past before Him was wonderful and freeing, but the clutches of the facade are long-reaching, and to this very day, its tentacles are grasping at my heels.

It is hard to be real with myself. Honestly, there are some things about me that just ain't pretty. It would be easier to pretend they don't exist and go bleach something. It is hard to be real with people. Let's face it...people can be very judgmental. We all love a good fingerpointing session. It distracts us from our own faults.

I am sickened when I realize just how much time and energy I have put into efforts that make me feel in control of my life, and worrying about what others think of me. God has been killing Facade Tracy. She is dying a slow, painful death. He is rooting out the motives behind my every action. It has been downright painful.

But I have met an interesting gal: Authentic Tracy.

Facade Tracy wants everything to be perfect at all times because that makes her feel in control. Facade Tracy does not care if her family cannot be comfortable in their own home because they fear messing up her hard work.

Authentic Tracy also likes clean...but she knows that family is more important than things. Authentic Tracy knows that she can't be a good wife, raise cherished children, go to school full-time, and write books while living in a spotless house. Perfect simply isn't on my agenda--I don't have time for it. Something has to give.

That something has turned into a dust bunny behind my fridge that is so large I am thinking about buying it a collar and giving it a name. It can be our new family pet.  

There is not an area of my life that has not come under His scrutiny. Why do I wear the things I wear? Why do I go the places I go? Why do I act and react the way that I do?
I don't want to make people happy with me. I want God to be happy with me.
I don't want to be in control. I want God to be in control.
I don't want a fake, plastic life that only looks good from the outside.
I want to be real. 

Jenness blogged about the writing journey over on the MBT Ponderers' blog. Read it here.

Give your own definition of chick lit.

The best way I can describe chick lit is that it’s literature about real women. That’s what I find so refreshing about reading and writing it. The books are about women who think and sometimes act the way I do in real life! The stories address imperfect women with insecurities, who can be snarky at times and sweet at times, women who love God but still screw up sometimes. They’re books I can relate with!

You are now writing for Love Inspired Suspense. How has that changed your writing style? Have you needed to change your tone to write for the category?

Writing for LIS is definitely a change. I like writing for the line, but the style is very different. LIS knows exactly what formula their readers want, and writers must follow that formula every step of the way. With my previous books, I was definitely freer to think outside of the box. I’m excited to write my chick-lit and for LIS, though. I love being able to tell stories, and I get to do that through both genres!

Do you have any chick lit-like moments from your own life that you could share?

The one that stands out happened a couple of years ago. I had a rare evening to myself, so I decided to relax in the bath and have a little pampering and spa treatment at home. These are things I never have time to do anymore now that I have two children! Oh, and I had laryngitis that evening also. After the bath, I put my robe on. My hair’s in curlers. A green mask is covering my face. And you know what happens? The doorbells rings. On my way to answer it, I stub my toe. So, I’m jumping on one foot, trying to cry out in pain but unable to because I’ve lost my voice. I answer the door and it’s the UPS man. I know I must have been a sight for sore eyes! Lesson learned? Next time just pretend I’m not home.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I have a tendency to injure my characters and then forget about their injuries the next chapter. I have to really watch myself there. I also love drinking Coca-cola and eating cheese crackers while I write. I’m trying to change that, however, because it’s not great for the waistline!

If you were going to co-author a novel with someone, who would you choose? Why?

Author Mary Connealy and I have been critique partners for years. I think we’d have a blast writing something together because we both get each other’s sense of humor.

What are one or two of your favorite lit novels from the CBA?

I love Siri Mitchell’s Kissing Adrien. I also really liked Sharon Dunn’s Ruby Taylor series and Kristin Billerbeck’s What a Girl Wants.

Where would you go on your dream “research” trip, and would you take anyone with you? Who?

I’d go back to Scotland with my best friend--my husband. My husband’s family still lives over there. We visited five years ago and had a great time. I’d love to go back again sometime. It’s such a beautiful country.

If you could live in a novel, which one would you choose?

This is a little tricky because I’ve been reading lots of suspense novels lately, and I wouldn’t want to live in any of those novels—they’re too scary and tragic!

If you weren’t pursuing writing, is there another dream career you might be chasing?

I’d want to be a Broadway actress.

Finally, share two pieces of advice—one writing-related and one not.

Writing advice: Write because you love to do it. If you get too caught up in getting contracts and good reviews, you’ll be miserable.

Other advice: Believe in yourself and it will be so much easier for other people to believe in you also!

Thanks so much for sharing, Christy. It's always nice catching up with you! To learn more about Christy, check out her website here.