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Unmatched

A Flash Fiction Fantasy Story

“Are you sure you want to face the wilds alone?” Lana twisted her apron strings around a finger, frowning.

Reva tried not to let her sister’s words frighten her as she stuffed a dress in her pack. “I’d face anything rather than marry.”

The village matchmaker found sick satisfaction in matching people who made each other miserable, and Reva refused to stick around for it. The culmination of the annual Harvest Festival was nothing more than human sacrifice in the guise of marriage. It made sense that it took place beneath the late autumn blood moon. 

“Marriage is our duty,” Lana said. 

“To marry a man I do not love?” Shame wound through her at the sorrow in Lana’s eyes. “I’m sorry. But I do not hold your loyalty to people who’ve ostracized me my entire life.”

“They’re just frightened by what they do not understand.”

“Which is why I’ll probably be matched with some barbaric idiot who will forbid me from using magic.” She folded a second dress and stuffed it in her pack. “I won’t have it. Besides, there’s a whole world beyond Haven’s borders.”

Lana shook her head with a reluctant smile. “You’ve lasted longer than I thought you would. Feigning sickness for two years in a row, pretending to get lost in the forest the next.” 

“Humiliating experience.”

“And Leon just happened to rescue you.”

Reva’s stomach clenched. Leon was the only friend who didn’t follow the village traditions like a mindless sheep. Perhaps it was because he’d been an outcast, too. Their plan to avoid the ceremony last year was brilliant—but they’d hardly spoken this year. Had he given in?

She latched the pack and slid the straps over her shoulders, then turned to her sister.

“Oh, Lana.” She hugged her tightly. “I’ll be back in a year, with stories and news of the world.”

Lana squeezed her, then pulled away to shove a little bag of coins in her hand. “You’d better hurry.”

Reva gave her one last hug, then cracked open the door to the sounds of music and revelry from the village square. She slipped out and began walking toward the forest road, casually, as if taking a stroll. Several neighbors passed her on their way to the ceremony, but none tried to stop her, or even speak. For once, being an outcast was a blessing. 

She reached the tree line and nearly exhaled with relief when a deep voice called her name. Reva froze and almost looked back, but fear ran down her spine in shockwaves. She couldn’t let them compel her to the ceremony.

 She lifted her skirt and ran, throwing herself into the forest’s shadows. The voice called again, but she couldn’t tell who it belonged to. She just had to make it five miles, and she’d cross the border into Alinor. 

“Reva!” 

Closer now. Whoever it was, they were running, too. Reva plunged off the road and dove behind the nearest tree, then leaned back against the giant trunk, panting. She had another way out of this, and she was past the point of being polite to fearful people who wanted to control her life.

Footsteps crunched, slowing. How many others were with him? 

Reva focused on the energy around her, on the trees and air and pulsing animal heartbeats that she felt as ripples in the current of life. The magic inside her sparked, then flamed.

More crunching. He was almost to her, but at least she only heard one set of steps. The flame inside her roared.

“Reva?”

She leapt from behind the birch and shot a bolt of fire at her pursuer’s feet. He screamed and fell backwards, then scrambled away as she leveled another in the same place.

“For Haven’s sakes, Reva, what is the matter with you?”

Reva blinked. The magic seeped from her body. Leon staggered to his feet and stomped out the tiny, crackling flame. 

“Leon? I’m so sorry. Are you hurt? I only meant to frighten you off. Except I didn’t know it was you, or I wouldn’t have shot fire at you. Unless you’re after me to drag me back, in which case there’s a lot more where that came from!”

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Finished?”

Heat climbed up her face. “Why are you here?” She noticed straps across his shoulders. “Oh. You’re leaving, too?”

“For Alinor. They say a man can find work easily in the shipyard. And they’re more open to people with our… talents.”

She grinned. “That’s where I’m going. But I thought you were getting matched.”

“I thought you were.”

“I guess we didn’t talk about it this year.” 

 He raised a brow. “You avoided me these many months. I decided you’d changed your mind about marriage.”

“You know I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Maybe just not the kind of marrying we’re used to.” He averted his gaze. “We should travel together—two refugees fleeing a backward people and a crazy matchmaker. We’d be quite the team.”

Reva glanced toward the village. “As long as they don’t catch us and force us to submit to our duty.”

“Between your skills and mine, we shouldn’t have a problem.” 

He lifted his palm and blew. A gust of wind crashed into Reva, whipping leaves all around her and into her billowing hair. She put her arms over her face. 

“Alright, we’re even!” 

The wind stopped. Somewhere behind them, men called their names. Reva groaned. A neighbor must have told the elders they’d seen her. Gossipy old busy lips. 

Leon’s mouth curled in a mischievous smile. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

She nodded. “Maybe a small demonstration?” 

He stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, as their magic united. Reva imagined their pursuers’ frightened faces and laughed. So, this was what freedom felt like—standing strong in her own skin. 

But she didn’t stand alone—and she didn’t want to.

Changes are Coming

Photo by Artem Saranin on Pexels.com

Hey, y’all!

I hope you’re having a glorious end to summer/beginning of autumn where you live! In Louisiana, the humidity is fading but it’s still 90 degrees. Change is coming, though. I can feel it.

Change is also coming to these emails and the website. I’ve upgraded my site, and I’ll soon be emailing you from a new—and much improved—email provider. I plan to continue sending a newsletter monthly (or almost monthly.)

If for some reason you do not want to continue to receive emails, please let me know. I’ll do my best to get you off the list asap. I don’t want to clutter anyone’s inbox, and I certainly would hate to be annoying.

That said, I want to thank you all for joining me on this journey. With all my heart, I have a deep gratitude for your friendship and support. One year ago today, I began my public journey as an author. I live by the philosophy of, “Go all in or not at all.” (The effectiveness and healthfulness of said philosophy can be debated another time.)

I went big. But I’ve never made myself so vulnerable before! It took throwing off all remnants of self-awareness and just diving in—and it’s been one of the best, and hardest, experiences of my life. I’m still working toward getting my novel published. I continue to have interest from publishers, but this is a long process.

Following any calling is a gut-wrenching endeavor. There are no shortcuts or easy roads. Yet, the challenges and personal agony are worth it. These hard roads are where we grow—not only in our field, but in our character and our souls.

Ultimately, I want my words to point to the One who gave me words. I want my stories to reflect His story, and to share hope with a despairing world. We’re living in dark times. But stories can bring light!

As a gift to all of you, and to new subscribers, I am going to email an exclusive short story. It’s currently in the editing and beta reading phases, but I hope to have it ready for you soon. This is a long-form short story, not flash fiction. It’s based in the world of my novels, and I hope you love the characters as much as I do. So, stay tuned!

How can I pray for you today? Drop me an email or a comment.

God bless,

Jen

Encouragement for that Writing Conference, Collecting Birthdays, and Writing Updates

July swept in on fiery wings. Down here, we are boiling with heat indexes over 110 degrees most days. ‘Tis the season for swimming, vacations, and, for some of us, writing conferences.

I wanted to write primarily to authors this month, though I hope these words can encourage any of my readers. Conference season holds unique stress, especially for those hoping to come away with an editor or agent requesting their manuscript.  

Many of my writing friends are going to Realm Makers or another conference for the first time. I will be attending Realm Makers virtually—and making pitches to editors virtually, as well. Since I have not been in person, I cannot speak wisdom from experience. But I know the insecurities that many of you may be facing, because I face them myself.

Insecurity and self-doubt are, I think, inherent challenges to our calling as writers and creative people. Sometimes it’s the enemy trying to discourage us from our path. Sometimes, the enemy is in our own mind. It’s so easy to fret, to compare, to tear our own work—and worth—apart. Imposter Syndrome is all too real.

Pitching and querying are particular minefields. You’ve spent years bleeding onto the pages, pouring your soul into your story, and now you must lay it at the feet of a judge who holds the keys to your career. Does that sound familiar?

It can feel that way, but it is not realistic. Take heart.

I may not know conferences personally yet, but I know God. And for those who write with his glory in mind, no agent or editor alone determines your future as a writer. And no caliber of writing determines your worth. God does. We must give our best, but leave the outcome to him. This conference, and these pitches, are but one moment in the journey, one dot on the map of us becoming who we are meant to be—both professionally and spiritually.

Try to keep focused on the other parts of the conference, like the beautiful relationships that blossom from these events. This is a time to connect with like-minded writers and grow together, and to remember that none of us are alone in this quest.

Now, what if our novel is rejected? Take the editor’s feedback and use it to improve your craft. I’ve been told by many conference veterans that editors and agents want to see authors succeed. They won’t condescend or roll their eyes. They often offer advice! That is solid gold, my friends. Those who accept it are those who move forward.

If you are attending a conference this summer, I hope you have a wonderful time of connections, friendships, and professional growth. If you’re pitching, know that I’m cheering for you! Please feel free to email me if I can pray with you or for you.

May we go forth with the peace of God as we seek to fulfill his calling in our lives, knowing that he cares for us.

Thoughts on Collecting Birthdays

Age is just a number, right? And yet, diving further into my forties introduces new, almost insulting realities.

For instance, I continually see gardening listed on social media as an “old lady hobby.” But I’ve loved it since I was a child, and my sons do, too. We eat what we grow, there are numerous science and life lessons my kids can glean from it, and I just happen to be in tune with the cultivating Eden part of myself. I am not an old lady.

Married twenty somethings call me “Ma’am” and “Miss Jen.” Child, I admire your manners, but don’t treat me like your mom. Even if your mom is my friend, and I just referred to you as “child.”

My body is betraying me! Don’t pay any attention to the lines spiderwebbing my face. I’ve just laughed a lot in my 22 years. Nothing to see here…

My doctor, who is significantly younger than I am, gently teases me that certain malfunctions of my otherwise youthful body are the result of “collecting birthdays.” Really, doc? Just wait ‘til you’re my age and your kids are teenagers, and you’re told you’re collecting birthdays! Ya whippersnapper.

Writing Updates

I have a new fantasy flash fiction story coming out with Havok Publishing this Friday, July 5th, called “Hostile Engagement.” Here’s the link to read it for free (that day only), and for all things Havok: https://gohavok.com.

You may have noticed that I have an official author logo. It’s thanks to the talented Rachel Ritchey from RR Publishing. She’s an illustrator, graphic designer, artist and author. If you’re looking for an illustrator or designer, check out her work at https://rrbookdesign.com/ and https://rachaelritchey.com/. I absolutely adore this logo!

I hope you are all having a beautiful summer so far! Thank you for subscribing and connecting. 

God bless!

Jen

Here’s a larger version of the logo.

Sunset on the lake.

Letters from the Trenches—How Rejection is Opportunity in Disguise

May Newsletter

Photo by Paul Cameron on Pexels.com

I want to encourage anyone who is working toward a dream. If you aren’t a writer, wade through the lingo and know this is for you, too.

If there’s one expression every author seeking a traditional contract knows, it is, “The Query Trenches.” The walls are steep, the ground might suck you in, and you’re met with rejection after stinging rejection. A contract is the exception, not the norm. When an author willingly enters the trenches, he is basically saying, “Bring it on, I quite enjoy pain. Let’s have another.”

Maybe you’ve poured years into a project, bleeding your soul onto a page. Maybe you’ve heard, “No,” one too many times. Maybe you’ve begun to question your ability, your talent, or even your calling. I am here to tell you, do not give up.

My husband often reminds me, “This is a marathon, not a sprint.” And even in the most profoundly agonizing rejections, there are blessings. I understand that may sound as if I’m spouting platitudes, but bear with me.

Rejection means opportunity. When our work is rejected, it is a chance for us to see what we could do better. It is an opportunity to learn and grow and be well prepared the next time we stick our necks out. Sometimes, the rejection comes with valuable feedback. Use it!

Sometimes a rejection has nothing to do with the quality of our work but is based on the market or poor timing. “Rejection on a technicality,” a dear friend called it. These rejections, while frustrating, are a good time to step back and evaluate our path. Would a different story sell better, or is this the story your heart must tell? Would self-publishing be a better option, or should you seek out smaller presses? It’s a chance to reassess the best route to get your words into the world.

Rejection is a testing ground. How badly do you want this? How far are you willing to go to obtain it? Can you handle twenty more of these as you strive for your dream? If you’re thinking, “I’ll do whatever it takes,” then dig in. You’re in good company.

In the rejection and in the waiting, we can learn patience and develop a deeper trust in the One who holds it all together. I could write an entire article on the spiritual blessings alone. God doesn’t equip us for a purpose, only to watch us flounder. If we write to honor him, then we must trust him to do what he wants with it. His timing is rarely on our schedule, and his plans may look different than we envision, but the end result is always the best one.

The query trenches… we either surrender and die, or we fight through them. If you’re in the trenches, keep your eyes on your goal. If you’ve had rejections, use them as steppingstones to something better. And keep your head high. You’ve already accomplished something few people do! You’re learning, you’re working hard, and you aren’t going to quit.

Right…?

Onward!

If you need to vent about trenches in your own life, or would like prayer, feel free to reach out!

Writing Updates:

On May 3rd, I had a new flash fiction story, “Recovered,” published with Havok Publishing. As always, they are wonderful to work with. My story is no longer available to the public to read, as each story is free to non-members for only one day. But if you’d like to read other amazing stories with various genres and themes, check out http://gohavok.com.

I’m continuing to search for a publisher and/or agent for my novel/trilogy. The trenches are almost cozy at this point.

Almost.

Fire in the sky!

I had to share these photos with you from the Aurora Borealis last night… in Louisiana! It was such a gift, such a marvelous display of the creativity of a God who wanted even our atmosphere to delight us.

The photos are a bit grainy, so I apologize. But maybe they’ll still make you smile.

Take care, y’all! May your May be blessed.

April Newsletter – “Dragon Harvest”

It’s hard to believe April has arrived. I hope you all had a blessed Easter. Here in the South, we’re planting gardens and soaking up spring sunshine… and sneezing.

April’s newsletter is a bit different, as the entirety of the letter is the short story I told you about. “Dragon Harvest” won Clean Fiction Magazine’s Windows into the Multiverse writing contest and was published in the magazine on March 20th. I’m thrilled that I can share it with you!

To all subscribers, thank you so much for connecting with me here. I hope you enjoy this quirky little story.

Photo by Adonyi Gu00e1bor on Pexels.com

DRAGON HARVEST

Jen Booth

Through the window, I saw my doom reflected in the pink petals of new spring tulips. Harvest Day always ended in blood.

What I wouldn’t give for gloves that withstood tiny dragon teeth—maybe full tulip-picking armor. Each year, the creatures hid under petals and leaves or wrapped around stems, changing their color to match the flowers so perfectly, even our trained eyes missed them.

Until, Chomp.

At least whisp dragons don’t breathe fire or steal livestock—just bits of skin and peace of mind.

I sighed and pulled on the thickest gloves I owned, then stepped out and rang the bell. My workers trudged from their stations, faces tight with the same dread I felt.

Except for one.

Marianne, the new girl, smiled as she looped her leather case across her shoulders. When I hired her, I warned her of the seasonal dragon discomfort. Now I wondered if she misunderstood our conversation, or if the poor girl was daft.

“Beautiful morning!” I let my voice carry over their heads.

A groan went through the group.

“Be fast, but precise.” I swallowed my urge to cringe. “We cannot afford to break a single stem. Marianne, since this is your first time, you’ll go with me.”

I thought the child would start dancing right there.

“I’m afraid you missed the part about dragons when I hired you,” I said as I walked to her.

She shook her head vigorously. “Oh no, Miss Capple.”

“Alys,” I reminded her.

She blushed. “Alys. They’re the reason I wanted this job. Do you know how rare it is to see even one whisp dragon in your lifetime? And you have hundreds!”

No question now—she was daft. I rubbed my scarred arms as we began walking toward the rows. A warm southern breeze hit my face, teasing the brim of my straw hat, and making the tulips bob their heads. She pushed her blonde curls from her eyes and squatted at the first patch we came to. Bright pink and soft peach surrounded us, like the colors of the sky at dusk. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t painful.

“I’ll start here. Maybe one will show itself.”

A yelp from the next row confirmed that would not be a problem.

Marianne looked the flower over before grasping the stem and snipping the base. Just as she started to pull it free, a tiny green dragon leapt from between the thickest leaves, straight onto her wrist.

Chomp. 

Marianne flinched. “Let go,” she said, with unnatural calm.

The creature bore down harder.

“That will be quite enough. No one wants to hurt you, so you shouldn’t hurt us, either.”

The whisp dragon dislodged its bite. “Liar!” 

I nearly fell to the ground. Did that creature just speak?

Another green peeped from the next flower and jumped on her hand, teeth finding her finger like lightning.

Marianne stiffened. “Stop.”

Her voice was firmer now. She would resort to slinging them off soon enough. 

The dragon growled as it sank its teeth further, shaking its head like a dog with a rope.

“You’re quite ferocious,” Marianne said.

The whisp let go and looked at her with disgust.

“I am ferocious, you patronizing, daisy-haired liar.” He squeaked as he spoke.

Marianne gave a gentle smile. I’d hoped she’d slap them away.

“I do have daisy hair. And I didn’t mean to patronize. But I am not a liar.”

“You said you aren’t here to hurt us.” Another dragon, pink like the petals it emerged from, slid down the stalk and hopped across the soil to the toe of Marianne’s boot, baring her teeth.

“We have to work,” I told the whisp. “Go away.”

Marianne plopped down in the soil. If this girl was going to waste valuable time talking to flesh-hungry dragons, I was going to terminate her employment. Instantly.

She leaned toward them. “Why do you say I am lying about not wanting to hurt you? Unless you mean after you’ve bitten someone, in which case you simply must accept that as a normal reaction to pain.” She looked at the first tiny dragon and raised a brow. “And it does hurt.”

“Good.” He tilted his head. “This is our home. The tulips are where our babies learn to color change and hop between flowers. There is no better home in the world for whisp dragons.”

Marianne bit her lips, then glanced up at me.

“How long has your family owned this farm?”

“Three generations.” I did not know where she was going with this, and wasn’t sure I liked it.

She turned to the dragons. “How long have your kin lived among the tulips?”

“We came when they did.”

“And prior to that?”

The dragon tilted his head in the other direction. “The forest. There’s not much to practice color changing there. Just forty shades of green and brown.”

Marianne grinned. “If you still had a home, would you bite?”

The pink dragon, whose skin was fading to a peachy silver, huffed. “Of course not! You taste revolting.”

Marianne looked up at me again. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

I crossed my arms. “They need to go back to the forest and leave my workers alone?”

Now Marianne grinned at me, as if I was the child and she the wiser. I narrowed my eyes.

“I was thinking something different, actually.”

Two more yelps rang from opposite sides of the field. She turned back to the whisp on her hand.

“You seem like a dragon who knows how to get things done. A leader of dragons.”

The creature stood taller, while the pink one coughed and the other green covered his face with a wing.

“I think we can all be friends,” Marianne continued. “What if we leave half the tulips—”

“What?” I nearly shouted.

That was it. She was fired.

“And in return, you allow people to come and see you? Most humans don’t believe your kind exists at all, and I’d wager Miss Alys hasn’t let word spread beyond the farm, because the prospect of tiny biting dragons hiding in one’s table decorations could slow business a bit.”

I stared, the gears of my mind churning. This girl was brazen, bossy, and—brilliant.

“I’d have to charge for visitors,” I began, and Marianne nodded.

“Yes, like for a carnival.” She swept her hand across the field, crimson trickling down her first finger. “But here, you’re bringing people in to pay for the experience of walking through the tulip fields in all their natural splendor, while offering the chance to find hidden dragons.”

“I suppose they could take a flower home as a souvenir,” I said, watching the vision come to life in my mind. Yes, this could very well work.

“And you dragons must promise never to bite again unless someone is trying to harm you. Otherwise, you’ll be treated like the trespassers you are.”

The dragon on her hand tilted his head again, one ear twitching.

“I would have to convince the others.”

Marianne stood, still holding the dragon. “Tell your fellows to hop on.”

“Hop on?” I did not want to be a tiny dragon carriage.

A swarm of whisps burst from the tulips, latching onto us with stunning speed. I had a green atop my hat, a fading pink perched on each shoulder, and several more clinging to my satchel and dress. I was hesitant to move and accidentally knock one off, thus starting the dragon war anew.

Marianne, covered in a coat of squeaking dragons, beamed at me like sun melting snow.

“Here goes!” She sidled closer and lowered her voice. “I hope I wasn’t out of line. When I see a solution, I pounce.”

I was too afraid to speak. She took my silence as agreement and turned, nearly dancing down the rows, the dragons bouncing along with her steps. I gingerly picked my way to where the nearest group of harvesters was cutting, yelping, and swatting. When they saw the two of us covered in happy dragons, they dropped their tools and stared.

A brown one dislodged her teeth from my foreman’s hand and spat. “Does this mean a truce?” she chirped.

I thought the man would faint.

“Turns out they’re talking, biting dragons.” I smiled an apology to him.

The pink on my right shoulder gave a little laugh, then stretched her wings and walked toward my face. Next thing I knew, she was nuzzling my chin with her rough, scaly nose, but in such a gentle way, I couldn’t help but smile and lean into her.

Another wave of dragons emerged from the flowers and lighted on my harvesters. Marianne threw her head back and laughed. I marveled at her ingenuity and courage, my heart filling with affection I never knew I could possess in all my childless years.

The prospect of bloodless revenue helped, too.

3 responses to “April Newsletter – “Dragon Harvest””

  1. Kathy Fox Avatar
    Kathy Fox

    Jen! Wow! This story is so you! I loved it! 😉

    1. jenbooth32 Avatar

      Thanks, Kathy! It was a blast to write this one. I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

  2. kannmills Avatar

    So good! Great way to incorporate the tulips! I love the emotional awareness of these characters.

Leave a Reply

March Reflections, Publishing Updates, and A Middle Earth Feast

Each March, tiny white daffodils break through a mass of brambles at the back of our property. Every year, I plan to free them, so they can emerge without struggle the next spring. But because they are out of sight, I forget, they fade, and I cannot recall their exact location until they peep through again the next spring.

We think that someone must have had a home on that spot long ago. Occasionally, we’ll find part of an old fence post, or non-native bushes scattered among the trees. My mind wanders to possibilities—who lived here? What happened to their home? It’s as if I’ve stepped back in time, standing where another mother stood while a delighted child pointed to the flowers.

“Look, Mama! Spring!”

That child may be a grandmother now.

Freeing the daffodils from the brambles is like freeing the memories from the erosion of time. Whoever lived here enjoyed the blooms each spring, welcoming the change in season. Now we do the same, sharing the same delight in creation and rebirth across decades—maybe a century. 

At the Booth family land, a mass of sunny daffodils graces the front of a white-paneled home that has seen two centuries turn over. While the structure is now beyond use, the flowers still thrive. Family members say they are the offspring of the original bulbs planted when the house was built.

And here, stories abound. Cousins pushed each other on a tire swing too hard, but no one wanted to stop. A pine tree towered above the rest of the woods, and brave boys climbed to the top to view the world. Women took their laundry to the creek to wash. Men went to war. There were fireworks at Christmas, picnics under hundred-year-old oaks, Nanny’s cooking…

Generation after generation was bound to that land with love, sensing something of the sacred in a place filled with stories of those who came before. And every spring, the daffodils remind us that though the seasons pass quickly, and our lives are but a breath, there is always rebirth—rebirth for the land, rebirth for us. 

This life may fade before we know it. But the end of our time here is not the end of our time. There is glorious rebirth for those who know the Lord. Life with him is an eternal spring, where creation will not wither and fade, and we will no longer endure the effects of passing years.

My father-in-law knows that feeling. Released from a weakening body, he now has a taste of forever spring. As do my parents. One generation passes to the next, sometimes too early, sometimes tragically, but always into something more.

Winter passes into spring.

Where are you most aware of the miracle of rebirth, both of springtime and of your life?

Publishing Updates

March roared in like a lion, but in the best possible way. My first published Flash Fiction story, “Amethyst Isles,” came out with Havok Publishing on March 1st. My next story with Havok, “The Rejected,” will be out Friday, March 15th. It will be free for the public that day only. You can read it at https://gohavok.com/.

Working with Havok Publishing has been an incredible experience, and I plan to submit more stories to them.

On the 20th, my micro-fiction story, “Dragon Harvest,” will come out in Clean Fiction Magazine’s spring edition. This was a fun, quirky story, and I can’t wait to share to share it with y’all. The magazine is available on Amazon, or you can check it out here: https://www.sunsetvalleycreations.com/cleanfictionmagazine

Middle Earth Feast

Thank you so much for subscribing! I am thrilled to be able to connect with you. I’ve attached a file for the Middle Earth Feast I promised—a collection of recipes inspired by The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. Our family enjoys the “hobbit food”, and I hope you will, too!  

Feel free to reach out! I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me at connect@jenboothauthor.com.

February Newsletter—Updates, News, and the Importance of Community

Today’s newsletter is more update than article. I have news and several changes to share with you. (And someone tell me how we are already a month into 2024!)

WRITING UPDATES

January was a whirlwind month, writing-wise. I have two flash fiction stories coming out with Havok Publishing in March. It was the first time I’d worked with an editor, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I plan to continue to submit stories to Havok—I’m hooked on Flash Fiction, and I love what Havok does.

If you aren’t familiar with Havok Publishing, check out their website. They publish a new quick read every weekday—perfect if you need an escape during your lunch break, or a fun read aloud with your family at night.

Here’s a link: Havok Publishing – Wreaking daily Havok 1,000 words at a time! (gohavok.com)

I submitted a short story to Clean Fiction Magazine’s Windows into the Multiverse Writing Contest. I went far outside my usual style and had an absolute blast. Results should be in on February 8th, but the pure enjoyment of writing was worth entering!

You can learn more about Clean Fiction here: Clean Fiction | Clean Fiction Magazine (sunsetvalleycreations.com)

The biggest news I have is that a publisher has shown interest in my proposal. While this may still end with the rejection folder, I am encouraged. The wonderful truth of the writing world, from what I have seen, is that editors and agents really want us newbies to succeed. It feels like a community—vast and varied, but full of camaraderie.

NEWS

There may be major changes to the website soon. The “.com” model is simply not meeting my needs. I have a fun gift for my subscribers, but in the WordPress.com format, I am unable to send it. From what I’ve researched, a “.org” model is what I should have started with. Unless I learn something new about my current setup, my goal this month is to (hopefully) transition from “.com” to “.org.”

Of course, my tech-deficient self may learn something entirely different from anything I just mentioned. Regardless, I’m striving for significant improvement. Thanks for bearing with me. (Prayers appreciated! I still have so much to learn.)

I’m also changing from bi-monthly posts to a monthly newsletter. I will still post articles, but not as often—I don’t want to blow up anyone’s email!

Thank you all for supporting me and following my journey. You have encouraged my heart, and I hope that in some small way, I’m able to encourage yours as well.

COMMUNITY

Another reason January seemed to fly is that my father-in-law passed away a bit over a week ago. It was unexpected and tragic. But we had such love and support from our church family that we felt God’s comfort in beautiful ways. Our dear friends got our children and kept them until late in the night. Our pastor checked on us every day. The church provided a feast for the family on the day of the funeral and brought meals to the house for a few days. What a huge help when you’re bone-tired and sorrowful!

And always, the hugs and whispers of, “I love you.” “I’m praying.” “I’m here.”

My husband and I have experienced several losses since we married. In every situation, we’ve felt the love of God through His people, lifting us—carrying us at times—though dark valleys. We cannot imagine facing some of these losses without Him, and without a church family.

Do you have a church family, a spiritual community who will rally around you and hold you up?  A fellowship where you can serve and hold others up, as well? If not, I hope you will find one. We weren’t meant to go through life’s struggles alone, and there is such strength in community.

If you have any questions or would like to talk about a church community, please email me. I’d love to chat with you. And if there is any way I can pray for you, let me know. I would be honored to lift you up.

New Year’s Visions—Don’t Let Fear Sabotage Your Goals

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

How did 2024 get here so fast? I remember my grandfather telling me, long before I was mature enough to understand, that each year goes by faster than the one before it. The older I get, the more I can relate to how he must have felt. Yet, as each year passes, I still feel the tingle of anticipation for what might be.

It is a new year, after all.

Most of us view the new year as a chance for a new beginning. Maybe it is a time to right a wrong or correct a toxic habit. Maybe we make resolutions to read more, sleep more, or pray more—or eat less, spend less, or worry less. While resolutions are meant to change something, goals are what we hope to accomplish. Eating less may be the resolution to the goal of reaching a certain weight. Developing an organizational system may be the resolution to enable a writer to meet a deadline.

Have you ever set a goal, whether for the new year or not, and found yourself held back by fear? We make a plan that we know is good for us, but a gnawing voice in the back of our mind tells us that we can’t. It’s too hard, too much, too late.

My fear over the last year revolved around wondering if I started my writing journey too late—if I’m too old to just be embarking on something that already takes years for many people.

It hasn’t helped that life taunts me with my increasing age in ways that have nothing to do with writing. Like a bad joke—or a good sitcom—the comedy keeps coming, and I’m the punchline. I have to laugh, because these age reminders are usually the result of some mishap, like the day I turned disco.

One Sunday morning, as I rushed to get ready for worship, I grabbed a new eyeshadow and went through the motions without really paying attention to how it looked. Mamas out there, you know how this goes. You’re trying to get yourself ready, while answering a dozen questions from children, and directing them to find their shoes/Bibles/clothes/notebooks, while scurrying back and forth to the stovetop to make sure you don’t burn what you’re bringing to the church potluck lunch. Multitasking is a mother’s superpower.

Just before we left the house, I glanced in the mirror once more, and my heart froze. I was glittering. My new eyeshadow was not the subtle, middle-age-appropriate shimmer I thought I’d purchased, but the glittery kind for a college-aged party girl. I wiped my eyes during the drive to church, dismayed at how accurate the “smudge-proof” advertising was for this product.

If not for the new wrinkles that recently invaded my face, I wouldn’t even bother with it in the first place. But now my cute little lines simply sparkled as I entered a holy time looking like a walking disco ball.

At least everyone knows I’m not an attention hog. They also know I’ve not yet left my awkward stage. Maybe nobody noticed?

As funny as these embarrassing age-moments are, others really sock a punch to my heart.

I began querying and submitting proposals for my novel just after I turned 42. I’ve written nearly all my life and always wanted to pursue a career as an author, but circumstances did not allow it for many years. I’m finally at the point to take the next step with my work.

At 42, I’m the oldest in most of my writing circles—old enough to be many a young author’s mama.

“You young’uns don’t know how good you have it. Why, I remember the old days when I wrote my first book on a typewriter!” (Said in my best Granny Clampit voice.)

Sometimes I wonder if I got to the game too late. As many years as it typically takes to get published, will I be 50 before my career begins? That sinister little voice likes to bully me with, “You should have started this ten years ago.”

No matter what our goal is, this is how fear works. It digs in where we’re most vulnerable, preying on our insecurities. Though it feels powerful, what we fear is usually not grounded in what is real.

The words, “fear not,” are found in Scripture 365 times—that’s a reminder for every day of the year. God is amazing like that. When I’m besieged by fear of any kind, it helps to go to His Word.

For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you. – Isaiah 41:13

 For God gave us not a spirit not of fear, but of power and love and self-control. – 2 Timothy 1:7

 Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths. – Proverbs 3:5-6

At the risk of taking these verses out of context, I find tremendous comfort and calm for my soul when I see how God encouraged the hearts of His people through the centuries. He wants the same peace and trust for us. Fear is human, but God is a God of empowerment.

Now, am I saying that we can have anything we dream of if we work hard and don’t let fear hold us back? No. I am saying, we cannot allow fear to hold us back from pursuing a goal that we have prayed over and given over to God. The ultimate outcome is His, but if we never try, we will never know what He might have done with us.

May you experience the peace of God’s presence as you trust in His promises.

Have you experienced fear holding you back from pursuing a goal? What helped you overcome it?

4 responses to “New Year’s Visions—Don’t Let Fear Sabotage Your Goals”

  1. betsystamant Avatar
    betsystamant

    Loved this message! And just to encourage you – a dear woman in the ACFW who recently passed away in her 80s, got her first book contract at 60 years old <3 Sweet Martha! 🙂  I also have a great writer friend in the ACFW who went back to school and got her librarian degree at age 50! She now works full time at her local library and loves it.  Betsy St. Amant HaddoxEditor & Author Coach at Storyside LLC Author of: Love Arrives in Pieces, The Key To Love, & Tacos for Twowww.betsystamant.com  

    1. jenbooth32 Avatar

      Wow, 60! That’s awesome! God doesn’t see our ages the way we do, that’s for sure! 🙂

  2. D. T. Powell Avatar

    Many of the writers who’re in the same place I am in their writing journey are 10-15 years younger than me. But when I stop and look back at who I was at their age, I know I wasn’t ready to be where I am now. God has changed and grown me through unique experiences, people, and stories, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. What has helped me so much is remembering that I’m preparing for Eternity. Everything I do here on Earth is a stepping stone for what’s to come. Instead of looking at those around me, I can look forward, to That Great Hope.

    Because I’m not in my teens and twenties, I have a foundation that others significantly younger than me just don’t have, because they haven’t had time to build it yet. I know who I am in Christ. I know how He’s worked in the past. I’ve seen the impossible. And I have a confidence in Him that has weathered incredible storms. In Christ, my Faith is unshakeable, and He’s proven that to me over and over.

    1. jenbooth32 Avatar

      Thank you for sharing your words– such a great reminder to keep our eyes on Him! Amen to all you said! It’s all leading to something much more wonderful than anything we can imagine. He says He puts eternity in our hearts, and I long for the day I can see Him face to face.

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Stories Around the Christmas Table

(Plus, a cookie recipe.)

Photo by Nicole Michalou on Pexels.com

The table is a sacred space, offering more than food.

It is where a family bonds after a long day, sharing trials and troubles, hopes and laughter. It is where we bring others not of our blood into our family for the time. It is the beating heart of Christmas in the home. Those who sit around it hear magic woven over a meal, born of memory and passed through generations.

When we share the table with the ones God gifted to us, time and distance begin to blur, and we enter something greater than ourselves—something of the eternal.

When I was a child, I listened wide-eyed to the tales told around our Christmas table. One of my grandfathers played in a country bluegrass band during the Great Depression. My other grandfather mapped enemy troop movements from a plane over the Pacific during World War II. Two brothers ran into each other in newly liberated France after months of wondering if the other was alive. My great-grandmother defied all convention at the turn of the century, eschewing marriage until much later in life and working as both a boardinghouse keeper and full-time nurse.

Their stories shaped my view of the world and who I wanted to be. We share stories of those who came before us, often unaware of how their choices made us who we are. Those same people, only met through others’ memories, sat around the Christmas table sharing stories of the ones who came before them. Every story connects to every other story.

The meal we share often carries stories and history of its own. My grandmother’s dressing recipe came from her mother, and from her mother before that—at least five generations sat together over the same dish that I make for my family now. Whether using an old recipe or trying something new, the Christmas table facilitates conversation just as delicious food bonds people through shared pleasure. It is another of God’s good gifts to us.

The most beautiful part is that this all happens around the celebration of the greatest story ever told—a story that we are all living out right now.

Sometimes, though, the Christmas table is not a place of reminiscing and sanctuary. For those of you who are dreading the stories to be told around your table, whose family relationships are tense or broken, or whose family has passed away, I stand with you in spirit. My parents and many beloved relatives are gone now, and the ache is pronounced at Christmas. I am praying for you to feel an extra measure of comfort this year. (Feel free to email me privately if you would like specific prayer about this, and I will lift you up.)

No matter our background or wounds, God can make a new story from the memories in our hearts or the fragments in our hands. With His help, it can be fuller and more beautiful than we could have imagined, and one we delight in passing on to those who come after us.

I want to leave you with a small Christmas gift, something our family enjoys every year. This easy gingerbread cookie recipe is a staple at the Booth house. I found a similar recipe many years ago and tweaked it until I had it the way we prefer—soft, with ample spice. My boys decorated the batch below.

Merry Christmas, from my story to yours.

Soft Gingerbread Cookies

  • 3 cups all-purpose flour
  • 12 teaspoons baking powder
  • 34 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1 tablespoon ginger, plus another tiny pinch
  • 34teaspoons cinnamon
  • 14 teaspoon ground cloves
  • 6 tablespoons butter (salted)
  • 34 cup dark brown sugar
  • 1 large egg
  • 12 cup molasses
  • 2 teaspoons vanilla
  • In a small bowl, whisk together all dry ingredients.
  • In a large bowl, beat butter, brown sugar, and egg on medium speed until well blended.
  • Add molasses and vanilla and continue to mix.
  • Mix in dry ingredients until blended.
  • Let dough stand at room temperature for at 2 hours. (I have chilled it before if I won’t be able to get back to it after 2 hours, and it works fine, too. The only difference is that it seems to make the dough a bit drier.)
  • Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
  • Place dough on a lightly floured surface and roll to about 1/4-inch thick.
  • Cut out cookies and space 1 1/2-inches apart on a baking sheet.
  • Bake for 8-10 minutes.
  • Allow the cookies to stand until firm enough to move to a wire rack.

Once cooled, decorate with a powdered sugar glaze or royal icing.

Royal Icing:

  • 1 ½ cups powdered sugar
  • 2 tablespoons warm water
  • ½ tablespoon light corn syrup
  • 1/8 teaspoon vanilla (or almond, depending on what type of cookies you’re making)
  • Stir well, until you’re able to pour a spoonful out into the bowl and it smooths back into the mixture in ten seconds.

 Enjoy!

4 responses to “Stories Around the Christmas Table”

  1. Michael Michael Fox Avatar
    Michael Michael Fox

    What a beautiful invitation this is! Well done.

    1. jenbooth32 Avatar

      Thank you, Michael!

  2. kannmills Avatar

    Wow, those are incredible life stories! I’d love to hear more about your great grandma that ran a boardinghouse—she sounds like a true Renaissance woman!

    1. jenbooth32 Avatar

      She was ahead of her time, for sure! I wish I could have known her personally. 🙂

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Gratitude During Seasons of Stress—A Choice and a Weapon

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Before I begin, I want to tell each of you how thankful I am for you. Thank you for subscribing, for reading this blog, and for your sweet support. You encourage this writer’s heart, and I hope I can encourage you, as well.

Thanksgiving season is such a gift. It’s a time to reflect and remember, to count our blessings and not our lacking. Introspection leads to outward praise.

It’s easy to feel thankful when life is going smoothly, but what about in times of prolonged stress or disappointment? When you feel like a hamster in a wheel, on a mad dash to nowhere? When you’ve worked and sacrificed, but you cannot see the finish line? Maybe you begin to wonder if there even is a finish line.

Stress is a sneaky monster. It leaves us heavy and on edge, and blocks the view of our blessings, inch by inch, until stress is all we can see.

I know this too well.

Yet, even in the midst of it, we can find reasons to be thankful and evidence that God is walking through it with us. We can have confidence that he will honor His word to us.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His steadfast love endures forever. – Psalm 136:1

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. – 2 Corinthians 4:18

God is our safe place and our strength. He is always our help when we are in trouble. So we will not be afraid even if the earth is shaken and the mountains fall into the center of the sea, and even if is waters go wild with storm and the mountains shake with its action… be still and know that I am God. – Psalm 46:1-3, 10

When God tells us to be still, He is inviting us into rest with Him, to allow ourselves to calm and trust Him with our troubles. We have promises, but how can we practically apply that to our situation?

There are many strategies for finding gratitude during stressful times. In this short post today, I’d like to encourage you with a practical exercise that has worked for me. Right now, I am the hamster in a wheel. Some days, it’s all I can do to keep my head above water, and if I am not careful, I will transform into a grump. This meditative exercise helps ground me and keep my focus where it should be—off myself.

First, commit to finding three things in this very moment that you are thankful for. Visualize them. Name them aloud in prayer or write them in a journal.

Next, think of three people you are especially thankful for and tell them why you are thankful for them.

Then—and this is the hardest—think of three blessings in your current stressful situation. It can be something you are learning, experiences you wouldn’t have otherwise, or a deeper understanding of your dependence on God. There is always something there, but to see the blessings through the stress and anxiety, we must intentionally seek them and name them.

Perhaps then, we can see God at work in it more clearly.

Gratitude brings us peace, helps us focus, and reveals purpose. Gratitude is not only necessary for wholeness and holiness, but it is the ultimate weapon against discontent, withering it against the view of the One who holds everything in His hands.

While we cannot always control the challenges and burdens of our lives, we do have a way to see beyond them, through the lens of gratitude. I am thankful that stressful seasons are just that—seasons, and seasons pass.

May your Thanksgiving be peaceful and full of joy, and may you feel the love of the God who cares for us beyond our comprehension.

4 responses to “Gratitude During Seasons of Stress—A Choice and a Weapon”

  1. Michael Fox Avatar
    Michael Fox

    Truth, beautifully spoken.

    1. jenbooth32 Avatar

      Thank you for that!

  2. kannmills Avatar


    Yes! We have a sign that says “gratitude changes attitude” and having a prayer journal has helped me through quite a few low times. Love this.

    1. jenbooth32 Avatar

      Oooh, I want a sign like that! And thanks! 🙂

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