My passion for writing grows from a twofold gift I believe all writers share: the ability to see visions and the need to share those visions with others.
The 16th-century artist Michelangelo once wrote: "Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it." He also said, "I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free."
Because I am a writer, I am always looking for angels in the marble. Then I can't rest until I find words to help others see what I see.
This passion holds true whether I write romantic fiction or inspirational nonfiction. It's true whether I am preparing a speech for writers or lessons for a Bible study class. It's true whether I write to entertain, to instruct, or to encourage.
Writers are driven to discover truth that is hidden from others. We find connections that others overlook. We recognize patterns and archetypes in everyday events and search for paradigms to make sense of what we see.
Then we write about what we see. We hone our skills by taking writing classes and attending conferences. We practice story arcs and perfect our grammar. We might labor for days over a few paragraphs to get them just right. We submit our work to critique groups and bear the pain of honest criticism.
Why? Because we want to express our vision as effectively, as accurately, and as persuasively as we can. We yearn so desperately for others to see what we see that we might find ourselves driven out of bed in the middle of the night to set down that perfect string of words before we forget them.
That's not to say that a writer's life is all about desperation and drive. Joy is, in fact, a key element for successful writing. Writers who enjoy their giftedness infuse their writing with energy that resonates with readers. When I find my "sweet spot"—that groove where writing is sheer pleasure—my joy in writing gives me emotional confidence to express my vision boldly and authentically.
Which brings me to my final point: Not everyone likes what I write! The angel I see in the marble is not the same one that Stephen King sees, or Dan Brown or Suzanne Collins. Different readers will respond differently to what I have to say. The wise writer learns not to take criticisms too personally. Our job is simply to write what we see as accurately and as artfully as we can and then, with grace and humility, offer our angels to the world.
Genre: paranormal romance
Publisher: Vinspire Publishing, LLC
Date of Publication: July 30, 2015
Number of pages:
Word Count: 91,500
Cover Artist: Elaina Lee/
For the Muse Designs
For the past six months, time-traveler Victoria Ashton has been living life as Katherine Kamarov on a ranch in rural California, circa 1890. A contrast to Katherine’s brash personality, shy and gentle Victoria has won the hearts of Katherine’s family and particularly her cousin Michael. Despite her deepening love for Michael, she has rejected his offer of marriage and sent him away, knowing that she must return to her own time on the night of the new spring moon.
In this third and final book of the series, sinister forces threaten Victoria’s new family, her property, and even her life, testing her for courage and ingenuity. A confident new self emerges, and when Michael unexpectedly walks back into her life, she questions whether she must remain a victim of fate or can find a way to determine her own future.
Meanwhile, Katherine has been living a parallel year of exchange in Victoria’s modern-day life, married to the handsome but remote Ryan Ashton. Hardened by her past, Katherine nevertheless falls for Ryan and, like Victoria, begins to search for a way to defy fate and keep the life she has come to cherish.
As the night of the new spring moon approaches, both women must search their hearts to discover how to hold onto what matters most, even if they should be forced back through the barrier of time.
He didn’t hear her slide the door open and step out behind him. Her arms circled his waist, and the faint scent of ginger spice shot twin arrows of joy and pain through his body. Wordlessly, he turned and brought his mouth down on hers. Enveloped in the soft twilight hush, they shared a kiss that was deep and long and achingly sweet. When they pulled reluctantly apart, Ryan let his eyes linger over her, already naming the vision being etched in his memory. This is how my love looked in twilight.
She was wearing her white robe, and her blond hair curled softly, just brushing her shoulders. It’s gotten longer, Ryan thought. He suddenly wanted her to cut it again, as if keeping her hair short would somehow help her to keep her claim on this body—on this life—and prevent Vicki from coming back.
Tori moved to the rail and stared out over the city deepening into dusk. “It’s started, Ryan,” she said quietly.
He moved to stand beside her. “What’s started?”
She turned and leaned an elbow on the rail, holding him with a steady gaze. “What we’ve dreaded. I dreamed about the bridge.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s only a week away. I should have expected it.” She drew in a breath that trembled. “She was already there, standing on the bridge. Waiting for me.”
At his look, she put out her hand and covered his. “Don’t hate her, Ryan. She didn’t ask for this to happen any more than I did.” She smiled faintly. “I would have, though, if I’d known you would be here. I wouldn’t have missed this time with you for anything. No matter what happens, I’ll carry you in my heart until the day I die.”
Ryan couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He could do nothing but stare at her in mute despair.
She turned her back on the glittering city and leaned both elbows on the rail, staring through the glass doors into their living room. The soft light of the table lamps was growing imperceptibly brighter as the dusk surrendered to night.
“Do you ever wonder, Ryan, what Victoria will be like when she comes back?”
“She’s not coming back.” His voice cracked.
“She’s had a whole year, Ryan, just like me. A lot can happen in a year. She may surprise you.”
“She won’t get the chance.” His jaw tightened. “I’m not letting you go, Tori. I can’t. Vicki doesn’t belong here anymore. This is your home, with Christina and me.” He covered the crack in his voice with harshness. “How can you stand there and calmly talk about Vicki coming back while you just up and vanish from our lives? Like it’s already decided, like it’s so easy for you—”
About the Author:
Judith Ingram weaves together her love of romance and mystery as well as her training as a counselor to create stories and characters for her novels. She is also the author of a Christian guide to forgiving and posts weekly devotionals on the role of forgiveness in healing relationships. She lives with her husband in the San Francisco East Bay and makes frequent trips to beautiful Sonoma County, where many of her fiction characters reside. She confesses a love for chocolate, cheesecake, romantic suspense novels, movies that require three hankies, and all things feline.
Website, blog and free weekly devotional: http://JudithIngram.com